Queen of the Ghettomobile.

Last week when I went to the dentist, I came out to the lock in the driver's side door being way inside the door. It looked like someone had pushed it in an inch or so. I could barely get my key in to unlock the door. The next day Hubster heard it fall to the bottom of the inside of the door.

So he took the door panel off the driver's side door a couple of days ago. All he needed to do was tighten a nut, but as luck would have it, (well...it really has nothing to do with luck - it has more to do with the lack of overall organization in our house), he couldn't find the right tool. He needed a metric wrench to get in there and tighten the nut back down, but he could only find the non-metric tools.

Bugster, Bubster and Frank came over last night to check on the car door. Thankfully, they've not been married long enough to lose half of their tools in a nightmarish mess of confusion, and Bubster had the right wrench to tighten the nut that needed tightened, and the lock now sits where it's supposed to within the door. However, he was hesitant to put the door panel back on lest he forget to reattach something. Understandably, he left that for Hubster to do. We were just very thankful he'd taken the time to come over and tighten the nut for us.

This didn't really affect me until today. I had to go to the dentist for my coronation, as my crowns had finally come in. I am now officially royalty. However, driving around with the panel off the driver's side door doesn't look all that good, and sadly I realized I was nothing more than Queen of the Ghettomobile. Still. I held my head up high and did my best royalty wave as I left the dentist's office and hurried off as quickly as I could for fear my rolling kingdom would be exposed.

This evening I find myself without a kingdom. I am no longer Queen of the Ghettomobile, as Hubster put the door panel back on today. He would have done it last night, but he wanted to be able to use the daylight to his advantage as opposed to using a flashlight between his teeth to see what he was doing. It was nice having the door look none the worse for wear, and I appreciate that he did such a fine job. But it leaves me in a quandary as to my status. . .

We've all heard of King of the Hill, but what does that make me?

I fear I am nothing more than Queen of the Heap.