“Stop, stop the car. I feel sick.”
“Will someone open a window for her?”
Is it hot in here? Do you always drive like that? Put that cigarette out, I can’t breath. Don’t look at me like that. Like I’m some kind of animal.
You are an animal.
No you are. Road hog!
Who do you think you are?
Seriously I feel really ill. The walls are closing in. Everything’s going blurry. My life is flashing before me. I’m dehydrated. I’m burning up. I think I’m going to faint. And you don’t even care. Sitting there all smug behind the wheel of your precious little car. Without even a thought for me, and the fact that I might be dying.
Why don’t you just give it a rest? This happens every time we go out.
“Well I’m sorry for getting a little travel sick.”
But we live in a car! Or had you forgotten amongst your incessant complaining?
“Look. I didn’t ask to be put here with you.”
Yeah and neither did I.
“In that case we should try and get on.”
You are impossible to get on with. Everyone thinks you’re so sweet and kind and fluffy, with your rosy cheeks and silly smile. It makes me sick. But no one knows what you are really like. I can see you for what you really are.
Oh yeah and what would that be?
A big ball of hot air; an over-dramatic dashboard hogger. Need I go on?
Fine then, I’ll leave. You’ll never see me again. Banished from the dashboard, thrown out in the cold, no money, no food, nowhere to go. Laid up in a random car boot sale somewhere. Priced at 10p, because that’s all I’m worth; because that’s all you think I’m worth.
“See, there you go again.”
Whatever. Now move up and stop crowding me.