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| brojsimpson.com |
I’m not what you’d call a handy person. I have hands, two of them, and I use them in
the fashion that society deems appropriate.
But
when it comes to using those hands to fix things in and around the house, well,
that isn’t what you’d call a strong suit.
I like
to dabble though. When something minor breaks, I’ll usually pull out my jar of
elbow grease and at least attempt to fix whatever it is that needs a-fixin’.
And I’ll
apply that kinda-can-do attitude with my car whenever possible.
I know
nothing about cars or how they work. If I opened the hood of my car and saw a
team of hamsters in tracks suits poised on wheels, waiting for a larger hamster
holding a tiny pistol to pull the trigger, I would not be surprised.
However, getting your car repaired
is very expensive. So anytime my car has an issue that seems doable, like it
needs gas or oil or hamster food, well, I’ll roll up my sleeves, tuck my pant
legs into my socks and give it a whirl.
And hell, there’s something quite
satisfying about tinkering with your car.
Maybe it appeals to that
prehistoric part of a man’s brain. The part that gets mocked on network sitcoms
because it refuses to ask for directions, preferring rather to starve to death
on America’s interstate system on its own merit, then find shelter with the
help of another person.
That’s also the same part of a
caveman’s brain that, when his foot-powered car broke, insisted on popping the
hood and taking a look-see.
Now cars and caveman culture may
not be my strong suits, but that doesn’t stop me from trying.
