Yesterday I was rear-ended by a cop, and now my car is sad.
This means that I must now drive my mom’s car around. It’s a lemon. The term “lemon” was actually invented with this specific car in mind. Once it died when I went to the grocery store, and I was told I had to rev the engine while jiggling the key in the ignition to get it started. I did everything I was supposed to, and still it refused to cooperate. I had to get my mom down there. She did exactly what I did, and the car started. It doesn’t like me. It prefers her. So you know it has an attitude.
I swear it’s haunted, too. The radio changes stations when I’m least expecting it. The seat won’t stay where I want it to. Sometimes it makes this strange “rrrrrrggg” noise when I’m waiting for my brother Alex to get done with football practice, like it’s impatient and it wants to move.
But the lemon and I are stuck together for a little while. We’re going to have to call a truce, because I need to get to the mall, and I designate the lemon to get me there. Maybe I can make it worth his while with an oil change or something.