As some of you may already know, Cheryl’s car and I do not have a very good relationship. I hate it. I can only assume it hates us, based on it’s abhorrent behavior. Lesser mortals would have lost their patience long ago, though I must admit that I came close many moons ago. This week may have been the alternator that broke my patience’s limit. Sure, six alternators in six years sounds like a lot, but taken with the car’s otherwise repugnant history, it’s a mole hill on the mountain. This week we’ve installed numbers five and six, but I wouldn’t bet on us buying number seven. It’s high time we parted ways. Now if I can just convince our budget to play ball…

What is the most frustrating thing that a car could do to you? How about quitting on you far from home? How about doing it twice in four days? Can an inanimate object be euthanized?