My Wife’s Car Hates Me
by Donald K. Sanders
My wife bought a new car last week. She used my son’s Jeep as a clunker and gave him her old Toyota Echo with the hideous “Supermom” sticker on the rear window. We scraped the sticker off so that all that is left is a blurry splonge of glue that dirt sticks to.
Anyway, my wife orders a new Ford, a beautiful car, with every luxury you can imagine. It has voice-activated Bluetooth, vocal GPS (turn by turn), satellite radio, ambient lighting and I don’t know what else. That’s the good part. The bad part is that the car hates me.
It’s hard to believe, but the car absolutely hates me and it told me so. The first day she had the darn car I wasn’t allowed to touch it. The second day I got to ride along to the store.
She started the car, remembered her purse, and went back into the house to get it. I just sat in the car and looked around at all the gadgets and thing-a-ma-jigs. That’s when it happened.
In a sexy female voice, the car says, “The passenger stinks.” I jerked around and thought to myself, “Huh?” It said it again: “The passenger stinks.” I thought to myself again, “Jeez, so I mowed the yard the day before yesterday. That’s man smell — something you’ll never know.” Just as my wife got in the car, it said it again.
“Did you hear your car tell me that I stink?”
My wife answered, “Oh, that’s Halley. She says that you’re synced — not stink.
“Oh, that’s the Bluetooth thingy,” I thought. My wife had named the car and its computer after “HAL” in the movie “2010.” I thought, “Didn’t that computer kill everyone on the spaceship”? Then the car started blowing hot air on my side and cold air on my wife’s side. Jeez, what’s up with that?
That’s when I started to plan my revenge.
I thought, “Just you wait baby, sooner or later my wife is gonna let me drive you, and I’m gonna drive you hard.” The windshield wiper on my side of the car started flapping back and forth, back and forth. My wife didn’t seem to notice.
That night, I took three sleeping pills and I still couldn’t sleep because I wanted revenge. Real bad! The next morning, I says to my wife, “Honey, can I take Halley for a short drive?” The reply was, “No!” A couple hours later, I finally got permission.
Halley was shiny and spotless, not a speck of dust on her anywhere. I couldn’t wait to get across the old bridge so I could put my foot into her turbo-charge as hard as I could. I had to be going 150 mph down the frontage road with the windows going up and down, the wipers flapping, and heat coming out of the air conditioner, when the car says, “The passenger stinks.”
I had only been on the freeway a couple of minutes when behind me a CHP car turned on his lights. I pulled over, turned off the car and the window wouldn’t roll down and the door wouldn’t unlock. The cop knocked on the window. I was freakin’ out trying to open the door when he knocked again.
Finally the cop asked me if I called 911. I thought for a minute.
“No, it was the car,” I yelled through the closed window. I was sweating because it was so hot in there. The cop shook his head and left the scene. The car says, “The passenger stinks.”
I somehow got the vocal GPS to work so it could give me directions back home. The car told me to take the next left. It was a dirt road through a field of sunflowers. I asked for new directions and the car says, “I’m sorry Don, I can’t do that!” I turned left.
There was so much dust flying that I couldn’t see the mud until I was up to the axle, but I made it through. When I pulled up to the house, I could tell that my wife was angry by the look on her face. There were little dots of mud all over Halley and me when I said, “Therese, I don’t know where the dog hair came from.” Just as I was going to turn the darn dirty car off it said, “The passenger stinks!”