Alright Black Betty. I’m getting a little tired of this. First you refuse to start on the absolute worst day ever, and after I get you towed to the shop, you work just fine. What gives? I have to fork over just about the equivalent of a student loan to get you back, and they couldn’t find anything wrong with you.
Okay, I’ll let that one slide.
About a week and a half later, you let me down in College Station. I’m sure it’s just because you really really did not want me to drive that night, right? You sure were happy to wake up the next morning without problem and get us to Sonic though…
But dude, come on. This week sucked. First you died on me while idling in the Sonic line at lunch. REALLY!? Actually, it was about ten minutes before the big crazy lunch rush. Dear lord. How awful. After some furious cranking you started again and you’ve kept me on my toes all week.
Like yesterday afternoon when you decided to die in the passing lane, at the stop light, at the intersection of 183 and Toll 45. JESUS CHRIST BB, THAT’S NOT SAFE. People fly through there at 60 mph, and THAT’S if they’re obeying the speed limit! You REFUSED to start! I was just going to cancel my plans and call my sister and call it a day. So I take my shoes off and attempt to push my car over to the shoulder, while people are honking at me. Dude, eff off. Seconds after my cute, dinner-friendly attired self steps out, two cars are stopped to help. Two really awesome dudes totally come to my rescue and push me off the side of the road… JUST AS YOU DECIDE TO WORK AGAIN. Can’t we be a little more CONSIDERATE of other people? That’d be great. Oh. And of course I get to Hula Hut early, and you’re JUST FINE then. I drive around and you’re JUST FINE again.
And then this morning. I’m at the intersection of the 290 access road and Brodie. A very, very, very busy street in the morning. What happens? You seriously wait JUST IN TIME for the light to turn green, and you decide to die… AGAIN! It’s 6:45 in the morning, people have work to get to. People are honking, I turn on my flashers, and, 12 furious, excrutiating, embarassing engine cranks later, you work. Just in time for the light to turn red again. Thanks a fucking lot, BB. What’d I do? I’m sorry for all the payment griping. I’ll try to be nicer. But seriously, you’re going to have to work with me here.
Although you are definitely showing me how nice men are to offer to help a cute girl in Cadillac…
I call my usual go-to people and vent about you (Sorry, this is how much I care about our friendship. Needed to vent.). They tell me they think it’s your alternator and want to bring you in to ask you themselves. I get really upset. But then I think… Wait. I know what a busted alternator sounds like. This is not the issue.
I then called upon my other vent… My father. He says that I should just treat you to some engine cleaning, maybe that would make up for our misunderstandings. You know what, I think he’s right. Things have been weird between us lately. So I treated you to some engine cleaner. I feel like your smiles come easier and you purr almost back to normal. Much smoother than your sickly sounding purrs over the last week.
I love you. Please don’t get sick again.
P.S. – Promise I will finally get around to washing you, fixing your backside, and taking care of that rear sunglasses issue 🙂
