“I’ve got a bit of a rattle in my exhaust pipe, it’s probably nothing”That’s what I remember saying. And after that, it’s a bit of a blur. I thought I was pretty smart, using a bit of hay-rope to fix things. Apparently my car was running on three cylinders, sported rather dangerous tires and the steering wheel was about to come off. In short, the mechanic my bf forced me to see thought suicide was probably safer than driving my poor sweet old Renault Clio.
The sweetheart that got me to Denmark and back, got me to Strasbourg and.. well.. not back as such. My first stick-shift and the first car my dad saw me drive in Holland.
I was extremely sad to strip it and leave it at the dealership, and I still have to get used to the idea that I’m going to be driving a red Mitsubishi Lancer. My dad and my bf sweetly decided to help me out with this venture. Thanks you guys! I am so lost without wheels.
Apparently, change isn’t always a bad thing…