Immediately after replacing the car window that some dimwit shot, everything in the car broke. Maybe not everything, but it feels like it. Various ‘door not closed’ alarms keep beeping and if the car goes over a bump, the back hatch actually unlatches and relatches. All that whirring and clicking isn’t the worst problem with the car. The front passenger door’s seatbelt has stopped working. I’m sure it would still latch in the buckle if anyone could get it to release from it’s spool in the car frame, but that strap of fabric refuses to be pulled across any lap. The husband is adamant that the problem is the car warranty expired last month. I’m equally dedicated to the idea that it’s a husband cooties problem.

When the girl teen turned 17 last June, she claimed the husband’s little blue sedan because she neeeeded it for school, dual enrollment classes, color guard and her part-time jobs. It does make more sense for her to have a car when her schedule is so packed. The husband promptly took over the Rogue that I used for child transportation, the big red bullseye store, quiet coffee shops and twice weekly visits to the bookstore. The husband has work, juggling practices/performances, hot yoga and scouting meetings/activities. I whine about not being able to leave the house during the week (and most Saturdays), but the girl teen will be heading to college in a year and cars will get shuffled again then.

In the meantime, the car with haywire electrical problems is the husband’s car. As long as I get a trip to the used books store every weekend, I can ignore the husband’s cootie damage.