My Minivan Is Trying To Kill Me

It gets assignments from Hell. I’m sure of it. I knew minivans were of the devil.

Two week check-up at the doctor’s office, then home to clean up some baby shower goodness, then to the office. That’s the plan. And it’s a simple plan. It’s do-able.

Back out of the driveway.

Dead minivan.

Never-mind the truck approaching my tail. It’s cool. Neutral. Start. Gas. Lurching. Turn the corner.

Dead minivan. 

Huge truck now on my butt. Sorry, guy. Neutral. Start. Gas. Lurch. Squeal. Stop sign and turn.

Dead minivan.

I hate you, minivan. 

Hazards. Neutral. Start. Gas. Lurch. Squeal. Lurch.

Dead minivan.

I’m gonna slash my own tires just for the satisfaction of stabbing it.

Neutral. Start. Gas. Lurch. Stop sign. Turn the corner. Coast down the hill.

Dead minivan.

Maybe I’ll stab a reservoir of some kind too so I can pretend it’s bleeding.

Coasting. Neutral. Start.

Dead minivan.

Neutral. Start. Lurch. Squeal. Lurch.

Dead minivan.

GO BACK TO THE HELLISH PIT FROM WENCE YOU CAME, MINIVAN.

Coast into the factory parking lot.

Start. Die. Start. Die. Start. Die. Park. Cry.

Stop crying. Because this is not that big of a deal, and I’m being a hormonal preggo. I don’t want to be a hormonal preggo. Get a grip. It’s just a demonic minivan that’s trying to kill me and my unborn child in traffic. Whatever.

Text Husband. Stupid minivan. Hate the minivan. Minivan out for blood of our first born. Probably need towed. May need exorcism. Husband is coming.

Start. Die. Start. Die. Start. Die.

Whatever.

Wait.

Husband shows up about 20 minutes later. Start. …

Seriously? Seriously?!

It hums for 10 minutes. Husband drives it back to the house. No squealing. No lurching. No dying. I flip it off as he walks up the driveway. I know its games. I know its plans. I rename it Gollum in my head. There will be no forgiveness. We are not friends.