Over a month ago Ross swung a little too wide when pulling into the garage and scraped the bumper and front fender against the edge of the garage door. Ooops. I wasn't mad because it was truly an accident. He wasn't screwing around at all. Still, he hurt, mangled, damaged, defiled, injured, defaced, crumpled, dented, scraped, and scratched my precious car. It didn't bother me too much. It was on the passenger side, so I didn't see it when getting into and out of the car. Still, I wanted it fixed. At the drive in I felt like people were staring at my poor car's booboo. We dropped off the car last week, and picked it up this morning. My car is back to its beautiful black self. I took it to the car wash, then straight home to dry it, and make sure it was really clean. It is all sparkly now. I love my car. Ross is no longer allowed to drive it.
You know how they say you should switch up your routine to challenge your brain? Like brush your teeth with your left hand? I felt like my brain was being challenged this week when I was driving Ross's car. Ross's car is a stick shift. Real women (can) drive stick. My first (and only other car besides my black beauty) was a stick shift, but I hadn't driven stick in a while. I had to wake up my left foot. I kept forgetting to downshift. Luckily I can go from a stop in second gear, and I didn't stall it when I tried to go from a stop in third. Teehee.
I feel very strongly about being able to drive stick. I feel that it is a skill everyone should learn.