Picking at an upholstery tear in the showroom chair, she fumed over her second trip that day to get her car serviced.
“Having fun yet?” her Mister texted.
“He’s running a diagnostic making sure it’s right this time,” she vehemently poked her phone keys.
She stared at the service bay window angry enough to burn a hole through the glass.
“If I had a penis this whole fiasco would’ve been avoided,” she stabbed at her phone again.
“Alex is just being an ass,” Mister tried mansplaining.
“You can make it up to me later since YOU have the correct equipment.”