All through our marriage, David has made sure that I have a reliable car. There are many reasons for that (my safety and that of our children, not being stranded somewhere on the side of the road), but mainly it was because whenever something happened to my car, I called David. I didn’t really investigate what might be wrong with the thing, I just called David.
There were many reasons for that, but the biggest one was that no matter what I did when the car malfunctioned, I did it wrong. So I didn’t call a wrecker or a service station, I just called David.
He would put me through a cross-examination that would do Perry Mason proud:
You said the car sounded “funny,” did you not?
Yes, I did.
And when you say “funny,” just exactly what do you mean?
Well, not quite right. Sort of a squeak, I guess you could say.
Guess? You guess? Come now, Mrs. Weeks, do you expect me to be able to diagnose what the trouble is if you’re guessing?
Well, all right, it went like this “squeak, squeak.”
Was it a high “squeak, squeak” or a low “squeak, squeak”?
Hmmmm… Well, I would say – I mean, it definitely was a medium “squeak, squawk.”
“Squawk”? Did the car also “squawk”?
No, that was a typo. Sorry.
This would continue until I was nearly in tears and he was about to explode. Evidently, we did not hear or describe sounds in any sort of communicable way.
I finally came up with a way to suggest there might be something wrong with the car that bypassed all the questioning. I would drop hints here and there over several days until finally, without me directly saying a word, David would wander out to the car and check it out.
But by his making sure I had a reliable car and because of financial necessity, his car was always a wreck. If it had not already been in a wreck when he bought it, it certainly looked like it had been recently.
One Pinto he owned was even worse than usual. When David drove through a puddle, his feet would get wet!
One morning, after working a 12-hour shift, David found that it refused to be put into drive. So he drove home in reverse!
I asked him which lane he got in – the one where he "looked" like he was going the right way but was actually going the wrong way, or the lane where he "looked" like he was going the wrong way but was actually going the right way.
Fortunately for him, the drive home was a short one and he didn’t encounter any law enforcement along the way. What kind of ticket would that be? Is there a law against driving in reverse if you’re in the right lane? By “right” I mean the lane you’re supposed to be in… No, wait. By “right” I mean the lane you’re not supposed to be in... No, that’s not right, either.
Well, I’ll just stick to the facts, ma’am. And if you know what that references, you may be older than you think…