Check the engine

Tired, bloated, and tired, I am driving back from visiting the youngest child in his new college digs. Just outside of St. Louis I stop at a QT and top off the tank, grabbing a soda, and Mike and Ikes for the road. I step on the gas and merge into traffic between two semi-trucks when the check engine light goes on.
I don't see any error messages, note that it's amber and not red, saying this out loud, but to myself. Muttering, really. My lovely bride looks up from her phone and says, "it's probably nothing. It'll go away."
A lot of thoughts roar through my head. It's always something. It's a check engine light. That's always serious, right? As a matter of fact, I just put a few thousand bucks of work into this rig. Shouldn't they have caught it if anything was wrong? Why does this always happen on a Sunday? Why are the Broncos playing so bad? Does she know anything about cars? Her Dad seems to. So why do I always seem to need to put gas into her car when I drive it? Where did all this semi-truck traffic come from? Where is the cloud cover?
I pull over at the next exit. "I'm going to check Dr. Google." I say.
"Whatever," she says, not looking up from her phone.
At a tiny gas station in Missouri, I get to researching while she stretches and walks into the mini-mart. Dr. Google suggests maybe I didn't put the gas cap on right. No way. I check, even though it's dumb, and maybe the gas cap unscrewed a little too easy. Maybe.
We get back on the road. "Did you fix it?" she asks. "Not sure," I say, grip the steering wheel a bit tighter, and keep driving.
A few hours later we pull safely into our driveway, the check engine light still glowing. I'll get to it tomorrow I say to no one in particular.
"I'm sure it will be alright," wy wife assures me. I suppress an eye roll.
Monday morning I head off to an appointment, running just a little late. I'm halfway across town when I notice something. The light is off. Nothing. Just a plain, dark dashboard. I sigh.
How does she know these things?

PS - Happy Birthday to Snickers the Cat. I have no idea when his actual birthday is, but he's getting old enough that I should say Happy Birthday whenever I see him. I think he's 18. He's on my lap right now, so sorry about typos.
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