More and more I find myself having arguments with my car. Which isn't really a problem as long as I keep winning.
Me: But we have to go backwards.
Stanley: I don't want to.
Me: We can't go forward. We are parked three inches from a brick wall.
Stanley: I don't care.
Me: I have to be at work 3 minutes ago.
Stanley: Oh, okay.
We have this argument about everything. He decides he doesn't feel like going out when I am 10 minutes late to an important meeting. Or that first gear is for wimps, or that I'm not allowed to wear my seatbelt today.
And he's still just a baby! I don't know what I'll do when he gets to his teens.