WORKING MYSELF INTO A LATHER
I tend to be a teeny, tiny bit of an over-reactor ... just a bit of one ... ever so slightly ...
Now, before I move on with this blog, I must give voice to a few people that, at this very moment, are writhing in agony because what is screaming from their mouths can not be heard by the rest of the blogosphere ... heck, by the world!
First of all, I must give voice to my mother, who right now, is glaring, wide-eyed at her computer monitor and is muttering, "A teeny, tiny bit of an over-reactor?? She can speak more clearly than that! She's Over-Reaction Royalty!"
I also must give voice to my sister, who is rolling her eyes, and uttering, "WHATEVER!" at her computer screen.
Finally, I believe Carrie would have this to say, "Dude, if over-reacting were a sport, you'd be an Olympic athlete!"
Okay, so from time to time, I do a bit of over-reacting.
Let's rewind, if you will allow me to do so, back to last Friday. I was speeding down THE HILL (those of you from Frankfort know what HILL I'm talking about) toward school, and I glanced down at my dashboard. FRICK-FRACK! The stupid check engine light lit up like a freakin' Christmas tree!
At this point, I'm using language I doubt a drunken sailor would use, because, seriously, I don't have time for this sort of thing. I'm going to physical therapy every freakin' single day of the week and those days I'm not going, I've got about 18 million things going on for school, and does no one realize how insanely crazy my life is right now???????
I think you can see where my head was on Friday ...
After school, I made a bee-line to my team mate Paul's room to assess the situation because, after all, he's a male, and males somehow have this inane intuition about check engine lights, right?
"Dude," Paul says. "As long as the thing isn't flashing, you can drive on it for two weeks. Dude, I totally did that."
The amount of "dudes" he used in that sentence didn't exactly give me a complete feeling of ease. So, I called my Papa. Amazingly enough, he agreed with Paul, with one small caveat. " Call your mechanic as soon as you can, just to make sure."
In the meantime, I worked up, in my head, where all the really creative stuff is at, the worst case scenario of what could be wrong. Here's how I had it all laid out ... my transmission was failing slowly, and very soon, belts would start popping off various locations until finally, when I limped the poor truck into the auto mechanic's parking lot, he'd assess the situation, loop his thumbs through his belt buckle, and grunt, "That's going to be $3,000 ... give or take a thousand."
You can imagine my fear and trepidation as I watched him walk toward the waiting room door, computer thingy-ma-gig in his hand.
"Well," he said.
Oh my gosh!!! He's going to tell me to start looking for a new car. I can just tell it! He's got that look! I can't afford a new car! I'm not even done paying for this one!!!!
"Well, it was a loose gas cap."
I stopped in mid-profuse sweat. "I'm sorry. Come again?"
"Loose gas cap."
"How much does that cost?"
"Nothing," he says with a slight smile. "Just make sure it's tight next time."
Oops ...
You don't think I was a bit over the top, do you??
Now, before I move on with this blog, I must give voice to a few people that, at this very moment, are writhing in agony because what is screaming from their mouths can not be heard by the rest of the blogosphere ... heck, by the world!
First of all, I must give voice to my mother, who right now, is glaring, wide-eyed at her computer monitor and is muttering, "A teeny, tiny bit of an over-reactor?? She can speak more clearly than that! She's Over-Reaction Royalty!"
I also must give voice to my sister, who is rolling her eyes, and uttering, "WHATEVER!" at her computer screen.
Finally, I believe Carrie would have this to say, "Dude, if over-reacting were a sport, you'd be an Olympic athlete!"
Okay, so from time to time, I do a bit of over-reacting.
Let's rewind, if you will allow me to do so, back to last Friday. I was speeding down THE HILL (those of you from Frankfort know what HILL I'm talking about) toward school, and I glanced down at my dashboard. FRICK-FRACK! The stupid check engine light lit up like a freakin' Christmas tree!
At this point, I'm using language I doubt a drunken sailor would use, because, seriously, I don't have time for this sort of thing. I'm going to physical therapy every freakin' single day of the week and those days I'm not going, I've got about 18 million things going on for school, and does no one realize how insanely crazy my life is right now???????
I think you can see where my head was on Friday ...
After school, I made a bee-line to my team mate Paul's room to assess the situation because, after all, he's a male, and males somehow have this inane intuition about check engine lights, right?
"Dude," Paul says. "As long as the thing isn't flashing, you can drive on it for two weeks. Dude, I totally did that."
The amount of "dudes" he used in that sentence didn't exactly give me a complete feeling of ease. So, I called my Papa. Amazingly enough, he agreed with Paul, with one small caveat. " Call your mechanic as soon as you can, just to make sure."
In the meantime, I worked up, in my head, where all the really creative stuff is at, the worst case scenario of what could be wrong. Here's how I had it all laid out ... my transmission was failing slowly, and very soon, belts would start popping off various locations until finally, when I limped the poor truck into the auto mechanic's parking lot, he'd assess the situation, loop his thumbs through his belt buckle, and grunt, "That's going to be $3,000 ... give or take a thousand."
You can imagine my fear and trepidation as I watched him walk toward the waiting room door, computer thingy-ma-gig in his hand.
"Well," he said.
Oh my gosh!!! He's going to tell me to start looking for a new car. I can just tell it! He's got that look! I can't afford a new car! I'm not even done paying for this one!!!!
"Well, it was a loose gas cap."
I stopped in mid-profuse sweat. "I'm sorry. Come again?"
"Loose gas cap."
"How much does that cost?"
"Nothing," he says with a slight smile. "Just make sure it's tight next time."
Oops ...
You don't think I was a bit over the top, do you??
Comments
Just out of curiosity, do I happen to know this mechanic??? And if so, did you by chance to tell him where he could stick that computer thingy...with as much love in your voice as possible? Not that I am bitter, or anything...