Sharon on Cars
PHOENIX-There's something wrong with this headline. I can't quite put my finger on it, but though it's meant to connote commentary it comes off vaguely pornographic.
Anyhoo, since I joined the car driving population, I have noticed that I feel a tremendous amount of guilt regarding my car. Not just the baseline guilt that I feel at all times about everything, but a very particular guilt that can only be relieved by confession. I desperately want assurance that I won't be going to some automotive hell reserved for those who abuse their cars. I wish there were some sort of dark confession booth where I could anonymously meet with a mechanic, tell him my car's symptoms and my culpability, and be released. Perhaps with the words, "Say three Hail Toyotas and leave a blank check or your Visa number at the door. You may pick up your car in five hours, unless we find more stuff to do to it. Now go, my child, and speed no more."
I don't think I could manage the last part under normal circumstances, though my car's current affliction doesn't allow it to move at more that 55mph without spasming. (By the way, does anybody else always read that "SPAS!!!" sign on the highway from Salt Lake to Provo as "SPASM"?) So I'm stuck driving in the lame lane doing the speed limit for crying out loud. I know the other drivers are sniggering at me. The sound rings in my ears like the end of a dream sequence from Gilligan's Island.
Somebody please tell me I'm not the only one who feels this way!