After almost a week of listening to the insufferable sound of my tiers squeaking I was able to finally take her into Midas and give her a check up. One oil change and a test drive later, the doctor came in with the diagnoses and a bill. Sure enough, it was my breaks. I nearly fainted from the $590 bill and a peculiar feeling resembling, which I can only assume as being stabbed, in the area of my wallet. I sat in self loathing for three hours as my car was operated on and was able to enjoy 100 pages of my book which I haven't been able to even flip through for the past week, this improved my mood slightly.
They called me to the desk and walked me through the bill. After hemorrhaging for a few moments when my bank card was swiped, I was overcome with a feeling to crumble onto the floor in a sobbing, unladylike heap. Instead I gathered my pride and walked out the door with my head held high and my bank account empty, I climbed into my car, threw her into drive, and squealed with delight when the breaks reacted better then before. I hadn't realize just how bad my breaks were until I started driving to my man's house. Discovering happily that I don't need to step on my break peddle quite as hard as before and the high pitched squeaks that accompanied my wheels rotation were gone. It was also a huge plus that I could drive down the road without cringing and hoping no one was looking at the crappy little Hyundai with the squeaky breaks. Now she is back to her beautiful sandy-blond glory.
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