Thursday October 12 2017

I think my girlfriend loves cars more than me

  car keys, woman driving

By Eugene Mugisha

For a girl who cannot pronounce ‘vehicle’ - she pronounces it as ‘v-e-h-i-c-u-l-e’, I do not even know which language that comes from - she sure has a love for cars. Why she just cannot use the word ‘car’ is something I cannot understand.
Anyway, it does not matter how she refers to it, the truth is, she would love me much more if I had a car. A nice car.
Sometime back, I wrote about a friend of mine called Jeremy who has this ancient heap of metal and rust that he calls a car. The way I despise that thing!
But time came when I had to borrow it.
Yes, I was actually in a corner, and with a heavy heart, I asked him if I could borrow his car. With a deeply suspicious look, he asked me ‘why?’.
He knows how I regard his car, he knows I have no love for it, so he was curious why I even wanted to borrow it yet I had several times declared that I would rather walk than drive that road hazard. So I told him I had lots of errands to run, and I needed a means of conveyance, and he was my only option.
He offered to drop me off. But I needed the car to move around flexibly without dragging him along. In all this, I was not even worried that the car might refuse to start, which it is notorious for.
I was ready to take the chance. Reluctantly, he handed me a piece of metal that he uses to start the car. It looked like it had once been a key, maybe a house key.
Several hours later, after running my errands, I was setting to return Jeremy’s car and go home when this girl I am seeing sent me a text. It said, “hey, what are you up to today evening?”
I replied, “nothing.”
And she immediately texted back, “let’s go for drinks.”
I wanted to ask her “are you buying?” but she is not that kind of girl, she is the silly type. So, I told her, ‘Yeah sure. Where are you?’
“I am in Najjera. Do you have a ‘vehicule’ and you come pick me up?”
“I am sorry, a what?” I asked. Of course I had figured out she was referring to a vehicle.
And why hadn’t auto-correct kicked in?
“A car. Do you have a car?”
I looked around at the metal I was seated in, and it frankly could no longer be called a car. Or even a ‘vehicule’, whatever that is. But I said “yeah, I have a vehicule. Let me come pick you up.”
And I set off to Najjera. When I reached her gate, I called her to come out. She came out five minutes later, and looked around, her eyes briefly resting on the car I was in. Then she called me and asked me where I was. Stifling laughter, I told her I was in the pinkish car. (It had once been red, but now was a pale pink).
I saw her turn back to look at the car with a look of horror. Then with a look of shock and pure disbelief, she cautiously approached the car as if she was worried it might catch fire at any moment.
I got out, and went to open the passenger door for her, smiling broadly as if it was limousine service. Looking at me as if she wanted some form of reassurance that it was okay to sit in such an unsafe looking car, she got in. Then I banged the passenger door so hard, she jumped. I rushed back to the driver’s seat, and the journey ended before it even started; the car refused to start. Nothing I could do would convince it to start.
I called Jeremy to come pick his heap up, and we jumped on boda bodas. I could see she was not amused, and all evening, she kept looking at me strangely.
Finally, she let it out; “you know, Eugene, I wish you would buy a nice vehicle (she did not even pronounce it as vehicule, the way she wrote it). I would be much happier if you had a car. But not like that one you came with today. Please, please, please buy a vehicle!”
I just laughed and got her a bodaboda to take her back home.

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