Adding to the recent avalanche of suck, our car started randomly overheating last week. So it was with one last longing look at our for-once-not-meager account that I sent Husband and car off to the shop.
Only to be rewarded with an outrageous repair bill.
HIM: Did you get my email? With the estimate?
ME: No, let me… Oh holy fucksticks. No. Just… no.
ME: No, No! We don’t have that—and if we did, we certainly wouldn’t spend it on this car!
HIM: So… car shopping?
HIM: I’ll come home and—
ME: Wait—do I have to go?
HIM: Um… yeah?
ME: (internal litany of fucks)