Automatic Fail!

I really hate getting my car smogged.  The reason?  Simple:

Automatic Fail.

Every freakin' year.

This, undoubtedly, means that I will spend some ungodly amount of money, to ensure the security of a working vehicle.  Typically, it's been my dad that really just fixes the issue, effectively making the issue simply disappear; go away; buh-bye mass inconvenience.  I have memories of  my dad, patiently, explaining the inner workings of a well-tuned driving machine: pistons firing; break pad functionality; "aways check the integrity of your spark plugs before you spend a dime to have someone 'examine' your vehicle," he warned. 

His fingers stained black after time spent  "handling," any given situation carefully and methodically replaced, repaired and magically fixed any and all auto issues, in my eyes. My beloved first car, Sebastain, a maroon 240 DL Volvo knew and loved his hands well.  I still love my dad for these moments, for taking it upon himself to guide me, in all things "car."  I remember these moments fondly, along with the smell of citrus hand rinse.  Thanks, Papi.  You will always be my hero.

 As years have passed, he has been able to come to my rescue less and less.  Not because he cannot; or because he chooses not to, but because, well, I'm 30 and we are cities away from one another, and reality deems: Put on your Big Girl pants; pay some money and get the car fixed yourself.  Which, I really am not super excited about.  I am...ultimately...lazy when it comes to my car; hate maintaining; scheduling appointments; asking for longer lunch breaks from work, cleaning, etc.

I admit: I am a spoiled brat in this regard.  I admit this, totally, unabashed.

Thus brings me to a state of great irritation, at the notion of having to pay someone to not only test the car again...but then "fix," her.

Enter really sweet, nice, helpful, somewhat-mechanically-knowledgeable (and really cute) boyfriend (who also built this motorcycle).

He is somewhat of a methodical perfectionist in all things... cleanliness; car maintenance; home life, beer selection, work, etc.  He is also...er...dare I say...a fixer, and damn-well determined.  Did I also mention that he is very cute?  Well, he is.  He has a spot in the garage for all things related to the cleaning of cars (incliding a ginormous shop-vac and waxer.  He makes things shine...

Anyway, today, he pops the hood of my car; investigates the OBD Fault Code and makes the attempt to figure out what it means and how he might fix it.  For this, I am eternally grateful.  He may not fix it, and that it totally fine- at least he cares enough to try.  So, I bring him a beer as a "thank you."

Sweet Arya.  She's sick.

The point?  I am mildly angered by the fact that I have to spend more money that I have, to fix my car, but more than that?  I HAVE a car.  Ultimately, I am a lucky girl.  I have a couple of heroes, who make me smile.  And, when all is said and done, it is just money, right?  It comes and goes...but Dads stay for good, and good boyfriends prove that there are still a few good men out there.