I’ve tried to love my car. I’ve defended it when my husband says it stalls a lot. I’ve ignored the weird gear lever contraption and it’s annoying sticky up bits of plastic. I’ve told myself many times that the fact the LED display screen intermittently goes red and then totally illegible, but then never does this when in a garage, is endearing. I don’t even blame it for the fact the the rear windscreen heating element is broken and would cost a fortune to fix.
I’ve focused on it’s good points. It can fit the whole family and camping equipment in easily. It makes book stalls a breeze with it’s capacious boot. I think the miles per gallon are excellent (but to be fair I haven’t got a clue what they are really). And it’s blue and shiny.
I’ve even tried to protect it by installing rear parking sensors so I can avoid pranging the back end and so far I haven’t damaged it in a whole year.
How does it repay me for all this acceptance and denial? Well today while attempting to try out the shiny new pink swing car in the park it decided to make it impossible to open the boot. It’s done this once before and I can’t for the life of me remember how we made it open. I’ve tried various different combinations of remote key presses coupled with car doors open or shut, engine running or not. I tried shouting at it and gesticulating wildly. I tried asking Phoebe to fix it. You name it I tried it. It wouldn’t budge.
So I lifted the pink swing car over the three back seats (I told you it was spacious) and got it out that way. Then I did the same with the scooter. Then when we had finished at the park I did the same in reverse because it still won’t open.
Then I said “we’ll have to get Daddy to fix it”.