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Planned Obsolescence.

September 5, 2012

“You should probably get that looked at”, said my husband as he watched me gingerly limp down the stairs with a basket of laundry. “ALL of it.”.

What he was referring to, and I am being careful not to offend anyone’s sensibility with TMI, is that for the past few months there have been several parts of me which have been hurting and bleeding at times when they should not.  My husband’s idea of a complete first aid kit involves a clean rag, super glue, and up-to-date tetanus shots, so I tend to not always take his medical advice.

But, I am almost forty-one.  You can ignore the funny noises your car makes for a while. Because, hey, it’s annoying but it still drives fine, right? But then you cringe a little as you remember how long it’s been since the last oil change, or brake service… wait, have they ever been replaced, or are these still the originals? You must have replaced them at some point, you tell yourself. And so you wrap yourself tightly in the last tattered shreds of denial and finally take the car into the shop, and before you know it the mechanics tell you need a pelvic ultrasound, physical therapy, bloodwork, and possibly oral surgery. And as your stomach sinks you reach for the  warranty you shoved in the glove compartment all those years ago, knowing what it will say before you even uncrumple and smooth it out to look.

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One Comment
  1. I hope everything turns out ok

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