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Arrrgggghhhhh!

edvard munch - the scream  1893

I have had:

  • No internet for a week!
  • No car for ten days!
  • No hot men. Ever! 

Argghh!

And you wouldn’t believe the performance I had with the car. Last week Eldest son broke it! Honestly! And in an alleyway so narrow, the breakdown truck couldn’t recover it!

Actually that’s a lie. The knob driving the breakdown truck just couldn’t be arsed to recover it. I think he was scared of scuffing his knuckles or breaking a fingernail.

Well, that’s okay,’ said my ex. ‘We’ll just go down and tow it back’.

 Yeah, right.

I have never been so scared in my life – me in the driving seat of a car being towed through narrow alleyways, parked vehicles on my left, ex-husband in front, and kamikaze drivers trying to squeeze through on the right.

It was piddling with rain, the wipers were staging a go-slow and the bastard engine seized up.  I had no steering and no brakes. I was a Tiny ball in a pinball machine, veering from right to left, picking-up speed and careering closer and closer to my ex-husband’s back bumper.

‘Stop!’ I’ yelled. ‘For God’s sake, STOP!’

But, of course, he couldn’t hear me because he was in another car. With all the windows shut.

We Carried on Careering.

So I started waving. Frantically.

Pleeeeeaaaseee…stop the bloody car…I have no control…STOPPPPPPP!’

But, of course, he couldn’t see me because he was facing forwards, negotiating our Grand Prix-style Cornish hairpin bends.

Eventually we stopped. I don’t know how. By then I think I’d fainted.

‘God, what’s that awful smell?’ he said.

Me,’ I whimpered. ‘I just pooed myself.’

Well, the great thing about ex-spouses is that they know you really well. So they’re never surprised when suddenly, you morph into a screaming banshee, shaking and swearing in a thin, hysterical high-pitched squeal.

In my defence, I was terrified. And I apologised later. When my heartbeat finally came off the critical list.

We found a space at the side of a wide road, dumped my car and drove home.

After a short argument with the breakdown company, they agreed to come out again.

And that story shall be called ‘Tiny and the Breakdown Recovery Blokie who Likes a Woman Talking Dirty’.

I love my life…

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About Tiny Temper

I'm a middle-aged freelance writer living in Cornwall. And no, it's not all sun, sand and steaming pasties. I've been married, done the divorce and accidentally shrunk the tee-shirt.

6 responses »

  1. Grey Goose, Dirty

    holy crap Tiny! that sounds terrifying. i was missing you and your funny posts but was really hoping that you were busy shagging some random hottie as an excuse for your absence. sorry I was wrong, but glad that you’re okay.

    Reply
  2. That whole thing is just one hot mess. Your car is broken, your ex has to haul it to the mechanic, and you were thinking you would die any minute. To top all that off no internet for a week?! Have you thought about taking up drinking?

    Seriously, sorry about the car. That is not a fun position to be in. *hugs*

    Reply
    • Aww, thanks! It’s been a bit of a nightmare to be honest. And the car’s still in the garage! Humph!

      If I started drinking, Bernie, I don’t think I’d ever stop! 🙂

      Reply
  3. That truly, truly sucks ass.

    Reply

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