Crying Over Spilled Milk

The milk spilling was the last straw.  Seriously. I may have to be medicated.

Last year I bought a new car.  The purchase was meant to offset "The Beast" --the huge Ford Excursion that I haul my kids and their friends around town with.  But once the kids were all in school full time, it began to be just me driving solo in this massive vehicle. It was a lot of extra work and gas just to run errands, especially since I live in a town where that new-fangled "Prius" reigns supreme, making it far easier to recycle a fridge full of freon than to force  "The Beast"  into the teensy-weensy parking spots that my eco-friendly town insists on providing.  So I bought a second car.

I bought a plain ol' Camry--nothing fancy--and yes, it's the one that got recalled shortly after I bought it.  This should have been some sort of odious sign of things to come but my inner oracle is a little rusty and I did not pick up on this classic foreshadowing.  I guess I was distracted by the car's ability to zip here and there, park anywhere, and that it cost just $40 to fill up.

What I didn't realize at the time is that the recall was just the freakish beginning of its repertoire of ruin.  Apparently one of the extra features it came with was a giant invisible bulls-eye that courts calamity. In the short year I've owned it, the darn thing has taken a beating over FIVE times...no, wait, make that SIX...as of yesterday.

First was the Cart Caper. [Passenger's Side]

The darn thing was just barely two weeks old when it was bludgeoned by a shopping cart full of food.  Whomever did it must have been illiterate because they didn't leave a note.  It caved in the entire passenger's side door with a GIANT unmistakeable imprint which included an exact impression of the cart's metal crosshatching and the grocery store's logo. Before the local body shop could replace the entire door altogether, I had to drive my new car around with "Albertson's" stamped unmistakably on the side.

Next was the Wedding Wipeout. [Right Front]

Fast forward a few months later when a certain child, in the throws of pre-wedding jitters, the night before her big day, smashed the right front end into my garage during a hasty jaunt into town.  Not wanting to upset her parents the night before her big day (a smart move on her part),  she conspired with a few accomplices until she was safely away on her honeymoon.  These accomplices, like many young drivers, were shrewd and clever at kicking dents out of cars just enough to ambush a parental keen eye.  They came and banged it back into place sufficiently enough conceal the crime so I wouldn't notice for a few days.  Just enough time to get the bride safely out of town.

Then there was the Great Garage Gouge. [Rear]

That would be when one of the younger kids prematurely shut the garage door on the poor car before it had been parked all the way inside.  It completely gouged the back bumper (perhaps this is why people laden their cars with bumper stickers--a ruse for a vehicular band-aid). This is when I decided that the motion detectors designed to keep the garage door from shutting on pets and small children is a highly misguided safety feature.  What it really should be protecting is the car!  I have plans to raise the sensors to bumper height and let the pets and children fend for themselves.

Sadly, next was the Double Door Ding.  [Driver's Side]

Which occurred when an unnamed child (uh, I'm trying to be discreet here but really, there's only one underage driver left at home--yes, the one that's not too keen on being blogged about) hit an icy patch on the driveway and came to a stop by lightly T-boning my car--which was mysteriously NOT parked in the the garage (I've got a re-parking bandit on the loose).  Despite the low-speed collision, it still dinged up the driver's side right smack on the seam of both doors.  Back to the body shop where I was now customer of the month-three months in a row.

Then the Deer in the Headlight.  [Left Front]

Which happened on the way to nearby town.  In which the same unnamed driver hit a deer, though the poor kid insists the deer hit him.  Naturally the deer had to wipe out the only place on the car that had thus far gone unmolested--the front left side including the headlight. This officially made my new Camry completely and entirely banged up on every side of the car.  And despite having most dents removed, I can't help but remember that underneath the shiny exterior of my once-new car is a whole lotta Bondo and buff work. This leaves me with the only thing I have left of a shiny new car...the inside.  It still smells new from the inside. Until...

The episode that sent me Crying Over Spilled Milk

This sad debaucle was NOT detected until waaaaaaay past the expiration date of a long lost gallon of milk.  Making this crime the most offensive and longest lingering of all the tragedies suffered so far.  There is no amount of bondo that can make this problem go away.

One of the things I like about the Camry was that it offered a cavernous trunk, turns out to be not such a great feature after all. It's so big that things can get lost in there.  Important things, like the kind of stuff that have expiration dates on them.

Somehow when I sent the children out to unload a trunkful of groceries (that may have been my first mistake given their criminal rap sheet in regards to my car) they completely overlooked a gallon of milk.  As days passed and curvy roads were traveled, this little rolling renegade found sanctuary behind a toolbox I keep hidden in my trunk in a vain attempt to keep tools away from the small kleptomaniac hands that live inside the house.  What I didn't realize was that my little stashed away toolbox is just the right height and weight to provide sanctuary for a runaway gallon of milk. There it harbored it for weeks until the fateful day--long past it's expiration date, some speed-induced car maneuver must have finally and fatefully dislodged the lactose time-bomb from it's shadowed concealment and sent it rolling to the opposite corner of the trunk where it finally burst in all it's rancid glory.

And now, presently, I am the sad owner of a smelly banged up car. So if you happen to see me running errands around town and I'm all by myself in "The Beast", you'll know it's because my master plan for getting a second car to ease my troubles...stinks.

Anyone wanna buy a used Camry with only 20,000 miles on it?