Well, fuck.

I had it all planned out: Lola is due for service, so I’ll drop her off on Friday before we leave for our trip and pick her up when we return. I made the appointment, entered it into my calendar, and gleefully checked it off my anal-retentive To-Do list.

Then Lola sprang a leak. I noticed a puddle under her when I left this morning, but didn’t think anything of it – it had been raining. When I got to the parkade this afternoon though, it was obvious she was dripping something. I inspected the wet but couldn’t place it – it wasn’t oil, it wasn’t water, and it wasn’t gas. What gives? I placed a panicked call to Ed – I may be an Independant Woman with all the sassy Beyonce songs that brings, but I fully admit that I am a mechanical dunce – I needed a knight in shiny armour; preferably one with a mop.

Ed figured the problem out quickly enough – Lola was leaking coolant. I called the shop to ask what I should do, and they suggested I bring her in immediately (as they closed in 18 minutes) and to be careful I didn’t go faster than 88 miles per hour (or as they put it, hotter than 20 degrees). I broke many laws in my race to West 4th, but Lola made it in one piece, before they closed, and without getting too hot or seizing.

So, I’m without Lola for who knows how long. I am a sad monkey who did NOT need this – I was already having a lousy day and now I am both convinced Lola is deathly ill AND missing Gina’s poutine Tweetup. This sucks.

I am currenty waiting in a Starbucks for Ed to come rescue me. I ordered myself a treat – a chai Frappucino, now that you can get them non-fat and all. I’ll keep the whipped cream, though. I’m having a bad day.