Getting out of the car this afternoon, I learned something. There is no way to prepare your finger for the amount of static electricity that my car and I create during one short drive in the fall/winter season. I approached the door tentatively, knowing all about its tendency to give me a little zap. But I swear, today it was out for blood. I couldn’t believe that my fingertip wasn’t visibly singed or bruising from the shock that thing gave me. I wanted to scream. I actually turned around and gave my car one of those looks like, “How could you do this to me? I thought we were friends? I can never trust you again!” Usually following one of those looks comes a response like, “Oh, I didn’t mean to do that, I don’t know what happened. I’m so sorry!”
Of course, even if my car could have responded to my incredulous look, I don’t think it would have been an apology. More like a “HA HA” a-la Nelson Muntz.