Here we go, complaint time.
"What is the matter with your car, Laura?"
Oh, thanks for asking, why don't I just share?
First, the windshield is leaking again. Pouring down to the seat, where guess who sits? Me! Yes, everytime it rains, which is every day here, I get to use my towel, or better yet, appear as if I have wet myself each time I sit down to drive.
Second, for some reason, I have a problem with the car overheating and becoming unusable. This results in the constant entrapment of Laura in various places, such as Pizza Hut.
Third, somehow, the driver's side door wants to keep itself open at all times. Like when I am driving down the road. So it must remain locked. Always. Or I get pulled out of the suicide belts and crunched into a Laura-pulp on the highway. The headline would read: Local girl well blended by traffic on way to knit shop, corpse placed in matchbox awaiting burial.
When will my Pepsi cash arrive? When will I have new wheels? When will I no longer fear for my life and those of my adored passengers?