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Meet the Columnist

Columnist, Sheila Moss, is humor writer from  Tennessee. She writes  a weekly human interest column about daily life and the funny things that happen to everyone.

   She has written for  the Daily News of Kingsport,   Griffin Journal, Oakridge Now, Atlanta Woman Magazine, Aberdeen Examiner, Angleton Advocate,  and Smyrna AM, a supplement of the Murfreesboro Daily News Journal. She has been published by Voyageur Press, McGraw Hill, and the good folks at Guidepost Books.  Her articles have appeared in numerous anthologies and other publications, both in print and online.

    She is a former board member and past  Editor of  the Columnists.com, website of  the National Society of Newspaper Columnists, the oldest and largest professional organization for columnists. She is the Web Editor of Southern
Humorists.com
  and  a founder of the Southern Humorists writers' organization. She is writer, editor, and webmaster of HumorColumnist.com

    To carry her weekly column in your newspaper, or to republish an article, please contact her. It's that easy. 

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Car Talk....
   

Car Talk


A recent survey by British International Motor Sports found that nearly half of the 2000 people they surveyed talk to their cars. That wouldn't be too bad, but forty percent believe that cars have feelings and twenty percent worry about their car being offended.

About a fifth of women have pet names for their car. Some owners praise their cars for a job well done and give them encouragement along the way on a long trip.

So, what would a conversation with a car sound like? I can imagine what I'd say to that Ford of mine.

Hi Ernie,

I don't know how to tell you this without hurting your feelings, but I've been thinking about it for a while and I want a divorce. I'm sure you know why, but I'll tell you again just to be sure we are on the same page.

For one thing, you are too expensive. Your payments take half my paycheck and I don't have any money left to do things that are more fun, like take you on vacation, for example.

Trying to satisfy your appetite for gasoline is depressing and I have nothing to show for keeping your tank full except for a few extra miles of highway. Life is measured from one fill up to the next.

You are high maintenance. Even when there is nothing wrong with you, you have to go in for service. You would think with modern technology they could figure out a way for cars not to need maintenance when nothing is wrong.

You are getting old and cranky. It's always something since you got a few miles down the road. Either something quits pumping or a belt becomes loose or you are squeaking at me for no reason at all. The best I can hope for is that you will run.

There are too many like you in the world. The world is half asphalt with cars on top of cars and still they keep turning out clones. There should be birth control for autos.

I don't like your friends. Nothing is more stressful than all of you cars trying to go somewhere at the same time, speeding, and creating traffic jams. I'm tired of life in the fast lane.

You have too many nervous breakdowns. I live in mortal fear, not knowing when you will flip out again. I have to belong to a motor club in case you decide to roll over and play dead and leave me stranded on the highway.

I constantly worry about infidelity. Some shadowy figure is always waiting around the corner to steal you and whisk you away for unknown parts. You will just take off with anyone who has a key, won't you? I have to keep you locked up and even then I feel worried.

I hate to have to bring this up, but you are a filthy pig! Every time I you get washed and cleaned up, you seem to find a mud puddle to run though. I never know if you will have tar on your hubcaps or bugs in your grill. It's downright embarrassing.

The bottom line is that I don't love you any more. The fun is gone out of our relationship. It used to be exciting to go out with you, but we have grown apart. I have other interests now and you are just an expensive liability.

So, I've decided to divorce you and move on with my life. I don't know why I've put off this little talk off so long.

Oh, drat, Ernie, stop that crying! Use your windshield wipers. Blow your horn! I should have realized that if a car could get offended, it could also feel used.


Copyright 2006 Sheila Moss
 
 



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