{It’s a twofer on the blog today!}

My car and I go way back. And by “way back” I mean I bought it brand new last April.

I love the heated leather seats (except in summer when they’re like sitting on fire pit). I love the nav on my dash. I love that it’s black. I love the sun roof. I love getting 42 MPG (under the right conditions). But mostly…I supremely love my car for the 10-speaker Bose audio it has. Crank that baby to 30 and it’s like I”m in my own little musical heaven. (And I still stand by the fact that the ONLY place one can listen to Titanium by D.Guetta is in my car).

In short: I love my car.

I don’t think it loves me though. Or, to be fair, I don’t think it loves the way I drive. The way I park. Or anything about me.

No, one should not generally drive at 90mph as an everyday speed. Yes, one should be more careful when backing into the garage to avoid dings. And really…I’m working on slowing down when I turn corners so I’m not flying up on two wheels.

I’m not a bad driver, really. I’m a nervous driver in the city and an aggressive driver on the highway. Basically two of the worst traits you can have. And my car surely reflects that.

Besides all that, I know VERY little about cars. Cars and sports. The two topics of conversation I will always fall short in (give me opera or physics or politics any day!)

So when my car does something funky or makes a weird sound this chain of events usually happens:

1) Panic. Be SURE to panic. Bonus points for sweating or crying.
2) Call your mom or dad. Be sure to convey the panic in your voice.
3) Call another person. Friend, sister, whomever. And also text someone.
4) Google the problem. Find the WORST most DEPRESSING advice in the search results.
5) Panic.

There are three great legends of what my car has been through: Premium Petrol debacle, flat tire in the middle of nowhere on my way to work, and low tire pressure in CLE.

And then today happened. I didn’t blow a tire or explode my engine but it was the trifecta of bad. Because it was probably the first really cold night of the autumn, my tire pressure went down a lot. Light comes on. I REALLY don’t want to be late to work so instead of following my 5-step model I made the executive decision to drive to work (I’m that dedicated) and the whole time I kept thinking “please let it be because the weather and not because I have a cut in one of my tires again…I really don’t want to buy a second new tire in less than a year.”

Roll in. And then this is the worst part. I actually have to admit to someone that I’m a damsel in distress when it comes to car things. No dad around. No Jake. And the only dude at work I’d let know my ignorance wasn’t in yet sooooo. That’s that.

In the end I found out I wasn’t in danger of dying by driving the 9 miles down the road to Conrads…but the entire time I felt like a dead man walking. Seriously. Think of an apocalyptic scene in your head. Add me. And my car. Times 543942. That’s what I was thinking would happen.

But here’s the real gem. Tires are filled with pressurized air so in my mind, they’re just like giant balloons. And I HATE balloons (unless they’re mylar) because they can pop and the noise scares me. So this exchange happens at Conrads…

Me to service center guy literally in a whisper: I need help putting air in my tires…I don’t know how to do it.
Service center guy: No problem, just pull up to the air pump and I’ll help you.
Me: Also, how much air would you have to put in a tire before it explodes?
SCG: *laughs*
Me: ………………………??? I’m being realz……
SCG: *continues laughing* A lot…you’d have to put a lot of air in them first.

Well great. Thanks for making me feel like an idiot. Gem number 2 occurs when I realized I was driving for about 7 seconds in manual (my car can go both manual and automatic) except I don’t know how to drive manual so….fail. Poor engine.

And then gem number 3 occurred when there was literally like…a 2×4 in the road but I didn’t have enough room to swerve with traffic so I had to hit it. I just had my tires filled with air and now I’m about to pop them with a needle that is this 2×4 (luckily my tires were fine).

Ohhhhhhh the woes of me driving. Probably only reinforcing the stereotype that some women are poor drivers. (Sorry, feminists).

And THAT, internet, is the Story of Us.