We have juggled our schedules numerous times over the past weeks to get Sunny, our daughter Tory’s beloved VW Bug, back and forth to the used car dealer. You see, Sunny’s been sick. Real sick. She failed inspection weeks ago and has refused to turn off her “check engine” light. She’s been trying to tell us what’s wrong only we apparently haven’t been listening very well.
We dropped her off at the dealership again last Thursday. Jeff, our saleman, called Friday to let us know that they took dear Sunny to a German specialist to have her assessed. The good news? The specialist thinks he’s figured out her ailment and fixed it. The bad news? We’ll have to wait and see.
My son Max’s good buddy Greg is taking me to pick Sunny up tonight. My husband Mike has a meeting at church tonight and can’t take me. And neither Tory nor I want to wait another whole day to pick Sunny up and bring her home. We want to check her out, touch her fenders, make sure she’s really okay this time.
You may recall that I’m a really bad passenger. Greg doesn’t know this. . .yet. And he has to drive me ten miles through four towns. He’s a very laid-back dude so I think he’ll be able to roll with me clutching the dashboard and stomping on my imaginary brake. That said, I will have to force myself to climb into his Subaru. I mean, handing my life over to a 19-year-old? Feh.