Passing inspection

We'll spare you the background about the car, and how it continues to squeal at us when the radio is on, and how the "Check Engine Light" was on for *months* and no one knew why (although Vinnie at the shop said, "Hey, trust me, I can fix this thing in no time" and then Vinnie from the shop and his brother Joey kept it for three different days and didn't fix the problem, no sir).

We'll spare you the stories about two of the last three times we've been pulled over, once for allegedly speeding (we told you this one, already -- pay attention, ya'll) and once for sitting in traffic in front of a foot cop.

We'll spare you the stories about how everytime we'd walk up to our car, the inspection sticker that screamed "REJECTED" didn't really help our self esteem.

But we went to the ol' inspection station the other day because, too much money later, our car was ready to enter the world of the worthy.

So we handed over the proper paperwork, and we went on a day where, shockingly, no one was in line. We made friends with the nice older woman in the waiting area who said she let her sticker lapse recently and the cop chastized her for being unlawful.

The nice inspection man finished our car and nodded at us. We walked out to our baby and the nice inspection man said, simply, "Yo, you failed."

What, now?

"Your third break light is out."

So we'll spare you the story about the driving down the street to Midas for a five dollar break light installation, and the driving back to the inspection station eight minutes later to not wait in line again to tell the nice folks that we have three lights again.

And we passed.

See? No need for anger or temper tantrums or whoa is us car stories. We passed. We're rejected no more. And, well, we don't have anything to b*tch about in this instance, and we're not sure how we feel about this.

Our throat kind of still hurts, though, so we guess there's that.