Right after I finished driving through the gale Friday, I pulled into the driveway, put the car in park and pulled the emergency brake. The “D” on the shifter started to blink. “Huh,” I thought. I turned the car off, then started it again. It stopped blinking, so I forgot about it.
But the next morning, I remembered this is exactly what happened with the previous Honda – and that you’re not supposed to drive the car when it happens because it can really fuck up your transmission. So there went my plans to visit with my niece on a rare visit home from California.
“This is what you get for not getting a new car,” one of my “friends” sniped at me. For the hundredth time, I explain that I don’t make enough. Then I mutter something about sunk costs.
I don’t remember the blinking being enormously expensive to fix, more of a pain in the ass. I seem to recall my mechanic had to haunt some junkyards to find the right part but I don’t remember a gnawing pain in my stomach over the price. Fingers crossed.
And I am losing faith in Betty White. She can’t coast on her looks forever. I hope she gets her shit together soon.
