A Break Down

The Boyf called a little while ago to say his car has broken down. Again. He can't get it to start. I didn't remind him that he was supposed to get it fixed originally months ago, and then said he was going to get it done last week whilst school was out. I wanted to remind him, cause frankly I'm getting bored with having to rummage about under the bonnet to create a temporary solution - even though I look totally hot doing so - or having to push the car to get it started - panting behind a car isn't such a good look on me (unless I'm bent over the boot being taken roughly from behind by a trucker. But that's a whole other story).

Anyway, The Boyf sounded stressed, and was going to be late for a meeting, so I figured I'd just keep my mouth shut.

Whilst I've been writing this he's just called again to say a recovery man has turned up who doesn't seem to know where anything is under the bonnet. He's diagnosed a dodgy fuel pump when it's just a jammed starter motor, but when The Boyf told him such the guy said "Yeah, it might be but I don't know where that is". Helpful.

In other news, I've still not worked out what the tampons are for.