Get Your Motor Runnin'

It seems like I have one of our vehicles in for repairs almost every week. Last week I got a windshield ding fixed and had some windshield wipers repaired from their chronic upright position. My car is currently sitting wounded in the driveway after the ignition wouldn't turn completely off. I managed to yank the key out, but now the battery is dead. I'm on a first-name basis with several mechanics, all of whom probably think that someone as automotively impaired as me should not be allowed to drive.
The first time I was asked how many cylinders my car had, I was out on the sidewalk with the hood up, trying to count them. I didn't even know what they look like. Some kind-hearted guy finally stopped and told me. I've seen a tire changed many times, but have never done it myself. I know that if the car is overheating, I should turn the heater on high and stop as soon as possible. When the serpentine belt breaks, bad things happen. If the alternator light comes on, don't turn off the engine! (I think)
My vehicle deficiencies have been passed on to the girls. Erica drove her car to Green Bay one summer, four hours each way. When I used her car shortly after that, it sounded like a plane taking off. $1500 worth of work later, I asked her if she hadn't noticed that something was wrong. "I did think it was a little loud," she agreed.
Last summer we were out of town when Katie called in a panic. "I'm in Elk Mound and I have a flat tire!" It didn't even cross my mind to tell her to change it herself--she has my genes, after all. I suggested that she go to the town shop--there must be a man there who would help her. (My apologies to liberated female drivers everywhere!) She called back 10 minutes later, no longer a damsel in distress--the tire was changed, and she hadn't even gotten her hands dirty!!
Fred has given tire-changing lessons, explained warning lights and meanings--but I'm not sure anything has stuck. Sometimes taking an "Auto Basics for Dummies" class crosses my mind, but I don't want the public humiliation of displaying my ignorance. (Crying by the side of the road next to my broken-down car is less humiliating?!)
This afternoon I'm taking Fred's car in because--I'll tell the mechanic in technical terms--"It sounds like a pack of wolves howling, and people stare at me when I go by." Hopefully it won't cost too much to make me a secure--and cool!--driver again.