This just happened.

Like any spoiled farm girl, I pulled into the local gas station - and seriously considered "putting it on the tab." As a creature of habit, I just enjoy the small town gas stations - the people are generally nicer.

Then.

The guy walks out, asking me if that was my car making all that noise? Me? MY car? How dare you, my car is fine. I think the (insert something about cars here) is slipping, it's just a 15 minute fix. Can you fix it, let's say Wednesday? I'm actually going on a road trip to Phoenix and well, I haven't packed yet. You're not driving this car.

The thing is, I actually pulled my car into the shop last night, and my brother checked everything out - so it's fine. Blank Stare. *huff* I'll call an order the (insert what ever that thing is) and they'll deliver it - it will just take an hour. Blank stare.

I sit here from my dad's office - placed convientently across the stress from where my car is getting her ... something... fixed. Pully? Maybe that's it. On a serious note, how amazing are small towns. I love this place.

 Also - could someone come pack for me? I'm supposed to leave for a roadtrip soon. In a last minute scramble, I'll probably just take everything orange and throw into a bag.

Also - if you're not cheering for the Cowboys come Monday, we can no longer be friends. Keep that in mind.