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... a date or something." She jerked her head around to look at me and I almost laughed again at expression on her face. "Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed. "I told you, I'm nervous about the car." "What's so ridiculous about you going on a date?" "W- Nothing, It's just that that isn't the case." I sighed, shaking my head and rolling my eyes, saying, "Whatever. Anyway, why don't you just get it fixed at work? Wouldn't they give you an employee discount or something?" She snorted derisively and replied, "They don't work on Chevrolets and dealerships are the last place anybody should take their car for repairs, employee discount or no." I laughed again at the irony of her statement, considering her occupation, but didn't follow her up on it. Flipping the visor down, I used the vanity mirror to check my makeup, asking, "So where are you taking it, then? And what kinda place is open at this hour? "Wheeling Auto service," she replied. "It's a private business, so they work late." "How'd you find out about them?" "The internet." "Hm. Well, I hope they're honest." "I think he is," she toned. "'He'?" "Dave. He runs the place. (Ahem)" This time I was the one to jerk my head around at her, a knowing grin spreading across my face at how she'd nervously cleared her throat just then. "Is he cute?" She glanced at me without meeting my eyes, the ghost of a guilty smile leaping to her features for an instant before she could squash it, and replied with a more severe expression, "Darin... He's ...

... just a mechanic, alright?" "Geez, Mom, lighten up. We're just talking. ... "So, is he?" She only shook her head, a dismissal to my question rather than an answer, but that smile returned and wasn't so easily gotten rid of this time. Neither was I. "Mom?" "You're way off base," she said, giving up on getting rid of that smile. "Oh, I don't think so. I bet he's tall and dark with big muscular arms like those guys on the covers of your trash novels. Isn't he, Mom?" We'd come to a halt at a stop sign, she being stubbornly silent on the matter at hand, and I was about to continue my teasing inquiry when the car sputtered and died. "Oh, shit!" she swore. "Don't you do this to me, you...!" Slapping the gear selector all the way ahead to the park position, she twisted the ignition, the only result being a 'rur, rur, rur, rur, rur' sound as the engine turned over, but absolutely refused to start. "Please, please, please, not now?!" she desperately begged. (Rur, rur, rur, rur, rur, rur, rur, rur, rur, rur, rur, rur, rur, rur-) The car behind us hit the horn and Mum almost went nuclear. "Oh, shut up! Can't you see I'm having trouble, you-?!" And then it fired up. We both breathed a sigh of relief and she switched the transmission back to drive so we could get moving again, for however long. Dammit, dammit, dammit!" she fumed. "Millions of dollars in bailouts from two countries and those blasted morons still can't build a decent car! Should have told them to go to hell! Should have let ...