I own a car; it is the only car I’ve ever owned. I bought it almost four years ago and I’m still really stoked it is mine. It is not a pretty car; it was old when we got it. The paint is peeling, it has many scratches and bruises (most are priors but some were made by Mr Husband and me), it has ugly hippie stickers, it is fairly dirty and full of crap (Mr Husband would call it fishing gear). But it keeps going, which is the highest sign of love I can get from any material item.
Having had a drivers licence for 21 years and owned a car for 4, you would think I was pretty up to scratch with cars. So did I. Until Yesterday – when I found out how the window-washer system works! I was so shocked, I had to pull the car over and just sit for a while, watching the wipers going back and forth, washing the front window screen. For four years I have been cursing Mr Husband for ALWAYS emptying the water supply, leaving me to wash the windows at gas stations or, when driving on rural roads, with a bottle of water and a cloth. I was stunned. There was a secret hidden button to twist I didn’t know and alarmingly I have used the wrong button (and now wonder what it does, that I’m unaware of).
My fascination only ended when Mr Husband said “can we go home now?” (I had picked him up after a monster long shift at the restaurant – apparently there is nothing more romantic to North Queenslanders than an Italian restaurant on Valentine’s Day; I think they’ve watched too much Disney).
I keep thinking I should be pissed off that I didn’t know this or apologise to Mr Husband for cursing him to places where men combust and rot in pain. Instead, despite knowing that it is part of my character to not read instructions and that I take no interest in any gadgets (including cars) what worries me most is that I somehow feel like a total blond…