Okay, so the tax stuff was worked out in the end--a combination of software glitches, personnel issues in the accountant's office, people ending up in the hospital, and all that fun stuff--so Mojo can get back to what's REALLY important with her life, which, naturally, involves a great deal of petty complaining.
So many sad, angry people ask me: Why, Mojo, how do you ever maintain your saintlike equanimity when faced with this vale of tears I call life? To which Mojo replies, Simple. I go to my spot. For just as Pooh--a Bear With Very Little Brain--had his Thinking Spot, so Mojo--a woman with very little else to recommend her--has her Spot, safely far enough away from polite society to render her fairly harmless and easy to ignore.
Aren't weekends supposed to be RELAXING times? Not for Mojo. The Deathtrap decided to expire. Luckily for me it decided to do so right where it was parked, and not, say, out in the wilderness ten miles from the nearest house.
And technically I guess it didn't DIE. It starts and runs just fine. The transmission blew, so it doesn't move, is all.
Anyway, it looks like we have decided to just leave it where it is and not even bother trading it in for a new car.
Due to various circumstances beyond Mojo's control--because, really, this world would be PERFECT should Mojo be given the power to control EVERYTHING about it--she is still driving the Deathtrap, Consequently if she wanted to continue her running streak of law-abiding, she would have to get this potential block of compressed aluminum inspected by the end of the month.