I am an automotive bad ass. Okay, that is overstating the case a little bit. To say that I can make car repairs would be like saying that someone who is capable of making microwave popcorn can cook. That said, I am never more proud of myself than when I successfully do something that is a bit out of my comfort zone. Last weekend when I was coming home from Conway, I realized that my blinkers weren’t, well, blinking. Not a good state of affairs. While I trust myself to know the hand signals to indicate turns, I don’t trust other drivers to recognize them. Hell, I don’t trust a lot of other drives to drive.

So, I get home, park the car, and confirm that my blinker lights aren’t functioning. Out comes the handy-dandy owners manual. “Fuse panel”…blah, blah…etc. Locate fuse panel near brake. Realize I need to rake floor board. Locate knee pad I use for gardening and floor scrubbing (yeah, right, I’m kidding no one), because carport concrete is not comfortable. Find jump ring to that necklace I broke a year and a half ago. Remove fuse panel cover. #29 is a 15 amp blue fuse. Locate spare 15 amp fuse. Now we’re cooking with gas. Mild expletives issued while removing spent fuse and extra fuse. Replace fuse. Turn on power. No blinker lights. Actually start car. Blinker light. Question whether blinkers ever work without car being fully started. Confirm with brother that this seems to be the case in his vehicle. Replace panel cover. Hope I have not locked myself out of the house. I haven’t. Sweet.

So…yes…I am an automotive bad ass with one fine Ford auto. Looking at her tenth birthday, the Taurus still rides on. Hmm…I wonder if I still have that mix tape I made to bring her home the first time. We should take a drive.