Car Key Batteries

Taking the girls to school this morning, we get in the car.

The dashboard beeps and tells me:

“Oil Maintenance Required”

Required?  Like I’m taking an SAT quiz.  Or I got arrested last week buying coke from a street dealer?  And, I have to take a blood test?

Wait, where were we?  Oh.  On oil.  (Two instances of alliteration there.  Shakespeare.)

Then, the dashboard beeps:

Low Gas.  8 miles.

I know that, but Costco is 10 miles that way, and school is 12 miles the other way.  Girls, I think we can make it.  No guarantees.

(Funny thing about buying a Prius:  Yeah, it gets 46 miles a gallon, but the tank is about a thimble full.  You’re still at the gas station every other day.  Like with your compensating-much? Hummer.)

Then, out of nowhere, the what-the-hell-is-this light (flat tire, as I learned) comes on.  Doesn’t tell me which tire, just “a” tire,  Shit.

So, I pull over and check.  It all looks good.

We head to school.

Isabella (she’s 9):  Dad, I don’t think you closed your door all the way.

Me:  Why, Honey?! Why?

Iz: Because of the alarm.  And the wind.

Shit. I pull over.

Me: Is everyone Ok?  Seat belts? Bagel Bites? Fuzzy Bunnies? Whatever.

Girls:  Yes.

Me: So we’re good?

Julianna (she’s 11): Yes.  Except for the gas thing…

Me: Leave it alone.

Julianna: Also, the flat tire.

Me: Alone.  Leave it. Yoda. Said.

Surprise, I get the girls to school.  No flats. A cheap gas station is literally a block away.  Everything is good.  Then, I get home.

When I turn off the car.  Beeeep:  Key Battery Low.

Excuse me?  Keys have batteries?  Since when. You are kidding me, right:

Prius: No, dude.  FOB.  Battery.  Google it.

Shit.  Why does my car hate me?

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