On My Grandmother's Car

The battery in her car died. It’s winter, it’s cold, this is to be expected.

She’s greatly upset by this.

Let me explain what I’ve just spent the past hour doing, because I wouldn’t believe it myself otherwise.

Take everything out of the car, she said–the car knows there’s stuff in it that’s not supposed to be there.

Walk around the car holding her driver’s license out toward it, she said–the car knows who’s supposed to come near it.

Check the truck, she said–someone may have tampered with the trunk, and the car knows that if someone tampers with the trunk the car won’t start.

Now she thinks that someone has tampered with her insurance papers–the car won’t start if the glove compartment is forced open.

Krikey!

It’s the battery. It’s the battery. It’s the battery. I’ve finally convinced her of that, but krikey!

One thought on “On My Grandmother's Car

  1. I’m sorry. But this goes with her use of towels to cover all of the windows, and then tell us that someone broke in and stole all of the towels.

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