Check Engine Light: HI! HI! LOOK AT ME! I'M ON! Orange! Orange! Orange!
CEL: Pay attention to meeeeeeeeee!!!!!
Me: Hush. Go away.
CEL: Still here! Better check that engine, cause I'm the check engine light, and I am ON, BABY!
Me: La la la la la.
CEL: Okay, maybe I'll go away.
Me: Oh good.
CEL: PSYCH! Still on! Check me, check me, check me OUT HERE I AM, WOOT!!!!!
So yeah, my check engine light is on. Frabjulous. This probably means nothing, right? RIGHT??? I mean, it's a loose wire, it's a glitch in the Matrix, it's just teasing me, it's a KIA, and that's barely a real car, anyway, and the engine is made of lollypops and unicorn glitter, and it just wants to be recognized for all the hard work it does, right??? I recognize you, engine! I love you! Please don't be broken, my little KIA of joy and traveling. Please, I can't handle that right now.
Check Engine Light: Listen, I know you've had a RILLY bad week, and that you're still terribly sad and incredibly angry, and everything absolutely BLOWS right now, and you need me to take you to get more Kleenex and ice cream, but I…am on. You should do something about that. Sorry to be an attention hog, but…Pay attention to me. For realsies.
You see, not only can I not afford to have anything wrong with my car, but I simply cannot bring it in to be repaired because my car is The Place Where All Crap Goes To Die. Seriously, my car is jam packed with so much CRAP that really should not be in a car, or anywhere except a dumpster, but I just…don't clean it. I don't clean my car! THAT'S what the light probably means, it means "Check the engine, the only place that isn't covered in books and cds and empty cigarette packs and Red Bull cans, because it simply will not tote you around anymore until you clean up that STY that you call the "back seat."
Check Engine Light: PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE pay attention to me!
Me: I'll tell my daddy.
CEL: Your dad's a mechanic now?
Me: Well, not technically, but that's what girls do when their check engine lights go on, right?
CEL: Did you hear that?
CEL: That was the sound of a million feminists groaning.
Me: I'm calling my daddy. He'll get rid of you.
CEL: I'm here! I'm orange! I'm shining on like a crazy diamond!!!!
Me: Wibble. This is all a plot to make me clean the car, isn't it.
CEL: May? Be? Or maybe I'm fixin' to EXPLODE!!!!!
Me: Well at least I wouldn't have to clean you then.
CEL: You're hopeless.