Today one of the s.o.'s friends fixed Squeaky The Car's namesake problem. It was a belt that had slipped, then had carved a big groove in itself because it was in the wrong position, then had been retightened in the correct position but was still making noises because it was carved up. He replaced the belt with the s.o.'s help.
So now the car needs a new name. "The Blue Car" doesn't really work--not because we have another blue car (we don't), but because we jokingly refer to the other car as The Blue Car.
Some of you might remember The Blue Car as the one that caused me to take an unplanned mini-vacation in central Illinois at the end of October.* It is actually an odd pale violet/sand/silver color that baffles all who try to define it. Before I brought the car home from Ohio, I called my uncle to get the information I'd need to get a Georgia license plate and title. Not being able to remember much about the car other than that it was a small Japanese sedan sitting idle in my grandparents' garage, I asked him, "What is it, blue?" "Yeah," he said, probably not remembering any more about it than I did. And so now the official Georgia title says that it is blue.
So now I have this low-level, probably unrealistic fear that one day I will be pulled over for some minor infraction--a burned-out tag light, for example--and will be hauled away to jail because the car doesn't match its registration information. It's a dumb thing to worry about, of course, because if I were stopped I would tell the police officer what I've just told you, and about three minutes into the story, the cop would decide I was too insane and blathery to bother with and would send me on my merry way.
But anyway, the s.o.'s friend, having already done us an amazing service by fixing Squeaky The Car (for the princely sum of a six-pack of Heineken and a dozen eggs), is now offering to repair the deer-shaped dent in the front of The Blue Car. And once that is done, he says he'll be glad to repaint the vehicle if we purchase the needed supplies.
We think we may buy some blue paint.
* The fuel system problem (you know, the one that stranded me in Illinois, was "fixed," and then reappeared almost immediately, causing me to have to drive hundreds of miles at a truly octogenarian speed) seems to be in remission. We are trying to pretend the incident never happened, but then again, we try to remember to take the cell phone along whenever we drive it somewhere.