I don’t count anything practical or useful among my skills or abilities. I am pretty good at being hopeless and I’m satisfied with that. A man can’t be too greedy after all. So while the situation isn’t completely desperate, the absence of any functional talent makes some things quite challenging. Like decision-making.
Don’t get me wrong: I don’t have any trouble making decisions. Oh no. I make decisions all the time, boldly, gaily, with abandon even. Many people are surprised how easily I can make a decision, even in circumstances where I know nothing of the background, context or consequences. I’ve never let qualification, experience, expertise or judgement stand in my way. Just ask me to decide - happy to oblige. No, I have no trouble making decisions, it’s making the right decision that I struggle with.
The death of our car a couple of weeks ago has had some unfortunate consequences: we have developed muscles the size of Popeye’s from carrying shopping and Baby has started to believe she is a marsupial from all her time in a papoose. The final straw came when T broke her last pair of heels as we attempted to carry our broken fridge freezer to the municipal tip.
Ordinarily of course we’d have just bought another car straightaway. But these are uncertain times. I have been quite reluctant to acquire more debt for an object that remains inactive for ninety percent of each day and when in use depreciates exponentially. In a rare moment of lucidity, the whole idea of vehicle ownership looked like madness to me. Confronted by the look of madness on T’s face and her reflections on my Bloody Stupid Ideas I am encouraged to turn that particular light bulb off and plunge back into blissfully ignorant darkness.
So we have a new car. And when I say ‘new’ I don’t, of course, mean ‘new.’ Actually by ‘new’ I mean ‘old.’ Older, in fact, than the car that’s just died. Almost done as many miles too. So this is clearly another inspirational moment. Against all of the obvious shortcomings of this decision, I have balanced the purchase price: a mere four hundred pounds. So if it dies after six months, I reckon we’ve not lost anything. It’s a disposal car. And sold to us by our Smiling Mechanic so what can possibly go wrong?
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