It is to laugh...

The alternator on my car gave up the ghost rather unexpectedly last weekend and I was not able to leave it with a mechanic. I was dreading the prospect of being without wheels for a week (I only live a mile or so from where I work, so it was potentially a major inconvenience, but not a crisis), when fortune smiled. A friend was going out of the country for a few weeks and asked if I could take care of his car (a very nice Jaguar sedan) while he was gone. The two events were so close together that I figured that it must have been kismet or something. So while waiting for an opportune time to become a grease monkey, I've been tooling around in a Jag (less than 50 miles worth of tooling, but still...).

I don't know why it is, but all of a sudden it seems like half the drivers out there want to race or something. I'm a pretty sedate driver, so it's not like I was zipping around trying to show off the car or revving the engine while sitting at a stop light. But it seems that as soon as the driver in the next lane sees the little hood ornament, they want to peel out from the light and beat me across the intersection. C'mon, guys! Get a grip on that testosterone level. I can't speak for anyone else in your car, but I'm certainly not impressed.

And just to prove the point, I replaced the alternator and serpentine belt in my car this afternoon. I'm back in my Mr. Conservative sedan and no one wants to race anymore. I guess it just goes to show that guys never grow up, they just get bigger.