Have I ever told you how Waco hates my car? When Aaron and I moved to Waco last August to go to seminary, I figured that we would have a difficult transition. I mean we left friends, family, a wonderful church, and a fun job all to go back to school after being out for nearly five years. Little did I know our transition would be easy when compared to that of my car.

It all started on moving day. As we neared our new home, I was overwhelmed by the smell of burning rubber. We had just driven through a construction zone, so I attributed the lingering smell to that. However, when I went to unload my car about an hour or so after arrival, it was filled with a putrid smoke. Ironically, my car was loaded down with all the items deemed either too valuable or too flammable to ride in the back of our big yellow truck. We started pulling things out of the car at breakneck speed and determined that our pillows were smoldering. Apperently, our pillows had shifted during the two hour drive, bumped the light on the grab bar, and turned it on. Side note: Those lights are the only thing I don’t like about my car. They get bumped on all the time, and they’ve even drained the battery on one occasion. However, this time the light got so hot that it melted the black trash bag our pillows were in and caught our pillows on fire. The header in my car was scorched, the light and grab bar were melted, two of our pillows were barely more than ashes, and everything (I mean everything) in the car was inundated with the putrid smoke. We had stuff sitting on our back porch airing out for days. Thank goodness for good insurance! My car was fixed and returned as good as new a few weeks later. But I couldn’t help but think, “Does Waco hate my car?”

The same week we got my car back we were getting on the highway when a rather large bolt came raining down from the sky. We were on the entrance ramp and could do nothing to avoid it. BAM! Just like that we had a divet the size of a 50-cent piece in the windshield. Are you kidding me?! Waco must really hate my car…

After these two incidents, we managed to make it through the rest of our first semester without incident. But as we reached the halfway point in semester two, I started to get cocky. Waco didn’t really hate my car. That was just a figment of my imagination. I spoke too soon. After making a horrible noise for a couple days, the air conditioner went out. We got it fixed only to have it break again a month later. Two different parts broke at two seperate times. Grr. Waco hates my car.

Fast forward to Memorial Day. We had people coming over and Aaron was supposed to be home already. My phone chirped- text message from Aaron. “Hey it’s going to be a bit. I got rear ended. I am fine. Just waiting for the police.” What?! Waco, you’ve gone too far this time. Pillow fire=freak accident. Bolt hitting windshield=wrong place, wrong time. Air conditioner breaking=the car is 6 years old and has upwards of 90,000 miles on it; it was only a matter of time. But rear ending my car and my husband? That is just too much. This is all out war! Waco, please stop attacking my car. I don’t think I can take it anymore.

Thus, I must conclude that Waco hates my car.