Good to know I have a purpose.

Today I was reminded that I exist for some reason other than merely to serve as a bad example. That is to say, today was my sister's semi-monthly phone call about what's wrong with her car this time. Note that she caught me after three hours of working on test plans, and I hate test plans with a passion I usually reserve for mowing lawns and doing laundry. Hate, hate, hate. At it's easier to be patiently repetive when your brain's on flatline from task-hatred overload.

Khlo: So I went to the storage place this morning [insert packrat rationalizations here], and when I went back to the car, it wouldn't start. It'd just go rrrRRRUUUNHrrrrrUUUNNhhh.
Me: It's the starter. Your starter's dying.
Khlo: But I was only there for like seven minutes.
Me: I know it took you more than seven minutes. You said you talked to Mom, loaded four boxes out of the car and into the storage area, locked up behind you, figured out the car wasn't starting, walked up to the office, asked for help, went back to the car, jumped it. I'd think maybe 45 minutes. Which meant your engine had cooled down some.
Khlo: It's ninety-five degrees outside. It can't be cool. It won't be cool again until October.
Me: The engine normally runs a lot hotter than ninety-five.
Khlo: Maybe.
Me: Anyway. Point is, it's your starter.
Khlo: But it jump-started just fine.

( *sigh* )

And you people wonder why I talk all the time. I grew up in a family where NO ONE LISTENS TO ME.