That's what I do. I wait until the newest model comes out, and then I buy the preceding model. Besides avoiding the high mark-up, I usually get it after all the bugs have been worked out. I didn't switch from Windows 3.1 to Win95 until Win98 came out and it was preloaded on everything. 3/1 was working fine for me. Saw no need to upgrade when all my programs were running just fine. In some ways, I miss that system because you could still easily go into DOS and edit files that way. There was no such thing as a hidden file or folder. Just something that you needed to know the right DOS command for. And I knew them.
This isn't the main point of this post, but it does lay some groundwork. I generally don't fret over the handful of possessions I have. None of the furniture is my room was purchased by me, or constructed in the past 2 years. I have a row of books, but all of them were purchased second hand for no more than $4 a piece. They could all disappear tomorrow, and mostly, I would wonder if whoever took them enjoyed reading them. There is, however, one possession that I do care for. In fact, I care a lot about it.
That's my car. I love my car. I say that without regard or hesitation. I don't tell her this often enough, but I hope I tell it to her enough that she never doubts my adoration. If there was a draft where I had to give up possessions one by one, The first thing I would give up would be the BYU baseball cup I got attending a game earlier this season. Then, the plastic bowl I use to hold my watches. Somewhere down the list you'd find my TV, and my clothes, and my computer, and my phone. At the very bottom of the list, you'd find my car. (I went back and forth between this and scriptures, but I went with the car because I could then drive it to some missionary apartment and ask for a free copy of the Book of Mormon, and possibly the Bible. They would have to throw it through the window because my clothes were higher up on the list, but still, I could easily get a new set of scriptures.)
Yesterday, I was coming back to my car from a delicious Winger's lunch. And I saw the most horrible thing I've seen in a while. Turns out, someone decided to scrape their car along the back fender of my car. I felt like I had been beaten with a mace. This was my baby, and she had been wounded. I can't be for certain, but I swear, I heard it whimper a little bit. I raced over to it, examining the extent of the damage, and told her things were going to be ok. I was here now, and this would get fixed. Looked around for a note from the offender, and found nothing. Cowards. Drove her back to work gingerly. Figured she had a rough enough day as is, didn't want to give her any other strains. My co-worker comes in and says "Hey, what happened to your car?" "I don't want to talk about it. It gets me too upset."
After work, I took her into the clinic known as O'Reilly's auto parts. Had the clinician take a look, and told me the bad news. Most of it would be able to be buffed out, considered most of it was plastic transferred on to her. Some parts though, some scratched into the paint and those could not be buffed out. It hurts to hear that your baby is likely going to carry a scar. I picked up the healing balm, and took her home. There, I lovingly worked the balm into her wound, trying my best to clear all the foreign debris. After about 45 minutes, I had an appointment I couldn't miss (I do loves me some softball), but after that, I came back home and did my best to fix what was left. Now, she still has some spots left that need a little touch up, but she's almost back to her good old self.
The moral of this story: I love my car. I really love her.
Word.
1 comment:
My car's got a lot of little battle wounds here and there. Battle wounds mean your car's a warrior. A warrior.
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