Wednesday, January 12, 2005

A Happy Memory

Over at the house of Sundae, happy memories of Ex's are being replayed. I'm still waiting for mine to surface (probably in the same fashion as a turd popping up in a swimming pool.)

So far, the closest I've got is something that happened this time last year. I was on my way to grab some groceries and noted that The Ex had let the car run bit low (I cycled to work, and so didn't use the car much) - so low in fact that it clunked to a halt with the petrol station twinkling in the distance.

A car pulled up alongside me. It was an elderly Vauxhall Nova - the sort of car my grandmother used to own. The owner had strapped what looked like a shiny bean can to the exhaust, stuck black plastic on the inside of the windows and fitted wheels so large that there was distinct smell of burnt of rubber from where the tyres were scraping the bodywork. And strip lighting under the car showed the rust up a treat.

The window jerked arthritically down. Revealing both the source of the thumping sound (a stereo that was all bass and no trousers) and the pimply face of the baseball capped driver.

I waited for the torrent of abuse or mockery, as I sat in the dead Mercedes.

"Wanna hand, mate?"

And he, and his companion, pushed me and my stricken car the rest of the way to the petrol station.

Which is why last year's resolution was Never Judge By Appearance.

And that is my current happiest Ex-related memory, or at least the one that makes me smile. From the time she let the car run out of fuel. Sigh.