“That’s life,” my mother tells me, just after I found my “new” Volvo is a complete rip, the warning lights deliberately punched out to deliberately deceive a hopeful buyer.
The mechanic doesn’t want to work on it, as he can’t stand behind the car. He worries the engine is a cesspool, down to the transmission dipstick stuck in place.
In short, lost car, lost time, lost money and most of all lost hope.
And my mother says “That’s life,” meaning you just get screwed.
And my fear is that she is correct.
If she is, well, who wants to play.