What an evil eye can do…

OK, my car is unwell. How, you ask? Well, here’s what happened last evening...

Yesterday my dad wanted to use the car and he asked me to get to work by bus. I could have very well asked him to take a rick to wherever he was headed. But not after he said that he needed to go somewhere close to Kancheepuram on work. So, the goody daughter that I am, I let him take the car.

Besides, I think one should take our very own MTC bus off and on. My fellow passengers double-up as my body guards, giving me that snug feeling throughout the ride, never letting me move an inch here or there, until I eventually decide to jump out.

But I really can’t complain, can I? Nopes! Not after the share-auto ride I had to take to reach work. On second thoughts, you could call it a “2 kilometer death-ride”. I had to practically grab at the railings of the rick, holding on to dear life not knowing for sure when I might get thrown out!

Somebody p-h-u-u-l-l-ease tell these share-auto guys that they need to check their rpm. During the little while that these guys wait for the traffic lights to change to green, which they do under extremely rare situations, you can feel your entire body shaking; cheeks jumping up and down, teeth rattling, butt getting displaced, and my spectacles gradually being moved from the bridge of my nose to the edge. And with both my hands holding onto either sides of the rick, you can assume how important (or unimportant) it becomes to adjust my glasses then! Phew! That was ONE helluva ride!

Anyway, back to the subject of how unwell my car is... As drained as I was when I reached home last night, I didn’t forget to take a look at my parking lot at home. Of course, it was parked there, as usual. But only when I went to take a closer look, did I notice the big gaping dent on its butt! Instantly I felt myself gasping for air “Ohmigod! How could this have possibly happened? Was there a car crash?” :-/

I quickly entered our home, waiting for an explanation. There was my dad, perched at his desk with papers strewn all over the table (he looked fine, so obviously he wasn’t hurt); and from the calm way he greeted me, you’d think that I could crash my car and bring it back every single night!

But well, I didn’t have to ask him a single question ‘cause he merely pointed out those dotted lines on the insurance papers where he needed my signature!

Aaargh! I feel awful! :(