“Here’s the problem,” the mechanic says wiping his hands with a dirty rag, “There’s grime in this switch. It’s supposed to automatically switch off when there’s an overload, but it’s stuck.”
“And that’s why I constantly think of her?” I ask trying to catch a glance at him while my head is immobilized. “This switch in my brain?”
“Yep,” he says, “Give me ten minutes, we’ll have it cleaned out, and she won’t be haunting your thoughts anymore.”
I consider it for a moment. I sigh. “No, just leave it.”
“Your call, Mac.”
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I posted this in my blog. It seemed so appropriate! You have such a fun perspective!