GARAGES are meant for cars and cars only!” said my car angrily. “Sure,” I said and looked absentmindedly in the direction of my garage. “But what does your garage have?” “You!” I said innocently.
“Look inside your garage!” shouted my car angrily, “the whole of last night I was cramped against that silly cot which went on sliding onto me.” “That’s my old baby cot,” I said stubbornly. “And what is it doing in my garage?” asked the car, “waiting for your second childhood? Well I don’t think it need wait any longer, you’re already into it master and you may as well take it upstairs into your bedroom! Oh how cute you’d look in it. Would you like a plastic doll hanging over you master? Or maybe a little duck?”
“That’s enough,” I said sternly. “Oh no it isn’t,” said my car, “there’s more to say. Why do you have to keep those two steel cupboards in the garage?” “Because there’s no place upstairs dammit!” I shouted.
“So why should it be in my garage?” “Where else?” I asked exasperatedly. “Throw it away!” shouted my car. “Do you know what is inside?” I asked. “Do you?” asked my car, “in the last five years they’ve been lying in the garage, I haven’t seen you opening it even once!” “I will,” I said, “once I get some time. “Till then they steal my place! And what about those old paint tins?” “What about them?” I asked. “They smell! Do you know what it is to try and sleep with paint and turpentine fumes? And that junk near the wall.”
“What junk?” I asked, “that’s my scooter.” “And pray sir, when did you last ride her?” “That bike has many precious memories,” I said. “In that case why don’t you keep those memories in your bedroom master, instead of crowding me with them? You know what I think?” “What?” I asked irritably. “You should have a garage sale!” “A garage sale,” I said slowly staring at my car. “Get rid of all your junk once and for all and allow me the space I deserve,” whispered my car excitedly, “to be able to stretch my wheels and open my doors without touching leftovers, scrap and nostalgic remnants of rubbish!”
“Okay,” I said as I sat on the floor and wrote a placard. “Master!” shouted my car, as it read what I had written, “what are you writing?” “Garage sale!” I wrote, “of too talkative a car..!” I looked affectionately at my baby cot, old scooter and steel cupboards and they smiled at me as I pushed the car out. —Email: firstname.lastname@example.org