I’d never loved my Mini more, and I’d never loved it less.
After I share what Zippety-Do-Dah did and can-do, you’ll rush to a dealer to purchase. Do without regret.
Last Saturday, my husband abbreviated his gym work-out to arrive home in time to pack me and my book-selling booty into the back of his SUV. He loves me, loves me, do.
He backed his car into our driveway, centered a few feet away for the garage door’s swing up-and-out. (this is key)
He hustled inside, stashed his stinky gym clothes (his words, not mine) into the washer, inserted detergent, started the machine, and then raced to eat a bite of breakfast.
Nourishment and clean living needs satisfied, he helped me stow my junk in his trunk.
Cue the Fergie and Black-eyed Peas song.
I was dressed and ready to go, and so was he, the faithful chauffeur, because
- parking spaces were limited at the outdoor mini mall where I and other OC Writers would sell their books
- my items were vast and cumbersome. It’s nice to have a honey along to hoist one’s stuff and hold one’s hand.
- it’s nice to have someone share the trips between here, there, and everywhere. It’s nice, he’s nice, it works.
But his car wouldn’t start… Dead, click-click, hearts sank.
Yes, in the twenty minutes he’d been at home, with his hatchback up and driverside door ajar (he was in a hurry!), his car battery had died.
It had happened to me once, in about the same amount of time, when I hustled between water aerobics and yoga. Aging car batteries do that.
No worries, AAA would rescue, just as it had rescued me. The white knight of plastic.
Best wallet accouterment, after credit and insurance cards. Wonder if it would work abroad? Thirsty camel? Weary elephant? Recalcitrant cabbie demanding a bigger tip in Rome? Get-out-of-jail-free card in Cuba? (think about it)
But, back to the book sale event. I had to skedaddle boot scoot, due there for a http://ocwriters.org start-up at 11:00.
Easter was upon us, so quick-as-a-bunny was apt! I opened my Mini, pulled down the back seat, and, ta-dah!
without much wedging, jamming, yammering, stowed my books and display in Zippety-doo-dah and away we zipped!
Yes, I was able to turn my garaged car around and carefully drive it past my husband’s dead SUV, parked in the middle of our two-car driveway, rudely, boldly blocking the exit. Not a scrape or side mirror bump, clean and clear. Out and on the road!
I arrived at the book event, hobnobbed with my friends and fans (well, one and the same – we writers gotta support each other ’cause we’ze the ones who understand this crazy, isolating, yet invigorating career), and, in several hours sold five books.