Goodbye, Funny-Dumpy-Lumpy

Of course, of COURSE, getting rid of the car would turn out to take the shape of an elaborate clown gag.

Of COURSE after the last buyer flaked--three times--the wrecker who was supposed to show up at 1:00 didn't arrive.

Of COURSE I couldn't find his number, even though I had made a point of writing it down.

Of COURSE I had to call five other wreckers before I could even talk to someone who could take the car today.

Of COURSE he would only pay half the price of the other guy.

Of COURSE when he did show up, it took 20 minutes of wrestling and prying and pulling to get the plates off the car. ("It's almost like it don't want to leave you," he said, which would have been funny if it didn't feel so spookily accurate.)

Of COURSE I still got a little emotional about saying goodbye to the car: the first car I ever bought; the car that seemed too nice for me when I first drove it home; the car that has seen me through a whole lot of tough times; the car that has caused its fair share of tough times too; the car I have written songs about.

Of COURSE as soon as I sat down at the computer I found the first wrecker's phone number.

Oh. Ohhh, clown. What a life I have chosen for myself.