I'm heading down to Portland this morning to read at the library. And then what will I do with myself? I might go eat lunch at the Asian noodle place. I might go to the Italian grocery and buy cannoli and wine to bring home. I might walk along the docks in my new pink dress. I might just get back into the car and drive home slowly and prudently, eyes alert for every passing deer and texter. To tell the truth, I am not altogether sure that my car is actually fixed. So the central question should not be "What should I do after my reading?" It should be "Do I drive my car, with its strange intermittent shake that the garage guys cannot duplicate, though they have checked and checked again the brakes, the front end, the tie rods, the tires, the ball joints, and have found everything to be tight and safe and have hemmed and hawed to me at friendly interminable length, in voices full of male concern, about all the futzing around they have done? Or do I drive Tom's pickup, which has a strange rattle that might be the muffler or might be the catalytic converter and that would require me to undergo severe backing-up and parallel-parking anxiety? Plus, I can't understand the buttons on his radio." You see my dilemma.