I love my new car, but should I start to take it for granted, I just remember what life was like a year ago today. It was a day that reminded me that stumbling through life for the mirth of others must be my raison d’etre.

I had saved a long list of errands to accomplish, so I hit the road right after an early church service. Apparently, I wasn’t specific enough in my prayers. As I approached my first shopping destination, I noticed the temperature gauge on my still-new-to-me used car was nearing the red zone.

“Oh gee,” I thought to myself (or something akin to that). “I know just how I’ll handle this. I’ll let it cool down while I shop, then I’ll deal with it.”

Once I finished the first errand, a good 30 minutes later, I returned confidently to face my demons. (Side note: I had recently discovered that the hood wouldn’t stay automatically open as it was designed to, and I had to prop it up with a stick.) Once I finished propping, I gingerly undid the radiator cap, getting a good spray of still-warm, sticky, slimy antifreeze from chin to fingertips.

When I finally removed the radiator cap, I promptly lost my grip on it and dropped it down into the engine. Not through the engine to the ground. Oh no. Deep into the bowels of the engine, never to be seen again. I jumped on the car, I jiggled the car. I slammed on the brakes. None of this shook the cap loose, however this last bit of creative but impetuous activity caused the hood to slam, jamming my makeshift hood stick so that it took me five minutes of determined prying, cursing and pulling to get it open again.

That’s right. Laugh it up. Meanwhile, that radiator cap remained stuck somewhere that will no doubt cause massive damage one day when the driver least expects it. The best laugh … for you … is that I lost four oil caps the same way on my last car. I don’t know where they go, but none of them ever hit the ground. Why haven’t I learned from my repeated mishap? Let me refer once more time to the fact that I am here for the amusement of others.

That, and I am clumsy.

Once I refilled the radiator, I had to set aside the remainder of my carefully planned errands and find the nearest auto parts store. Two freeway exits later, I managed that, but of course, the car was overheating again by now, having thrown most of the antifreeze I just added out through the topless opening. The entire car and most of my clothes were now ripe with that cloying scent of hot antifreeze. Well, it did clear the aisles for me at my next retail stop.

The balance of the afternoon was spent limping from errand to errand, refilling the radiator at each stop until I squeaked in to the mechanic’s where I left the intemperate beast overnight to ponder its thoughtless behavior.

I felt a bit like I had crossed the prairie by covered wagon by then.

To round out my misery, the only car left out of our usual stable for me to drive was my husband’s stick shift.

Try as I might, I cannot remember why I ever thought driving a four-on-the-floor was fun.

Now it feels like I’m on some new, torturous piece of gym equipment.

I thought briefly about trading up for a horse, but decided they smell even worse than hot antifreeze and know even more ways to humiliate me.