I’ve lost control of my car.

I’m not sure when I lost control of my car, I just know I did.

The reason I know I lost control of my car is because, yesterday, I made a trip to the liquor store to get wine for my wife and our 22-year-old daughter Emma. I mentioned this last week, the reason I get wine for my wife and Emma is to help them tolerate being stuck at home with me.

Many of you who have read this column probably understand what I mean.

Of course, I suppose in the interest of fair disclosure, I should point out when I buy wine for my wife and Emma, I also buy them beer.

“But Mike,” some of you are wondering, “Do your wife and Emma drink much beer?”

To some of you who are wondering I say, “No. No they do not.”

“But Mike,” some of you are wondering further, “Do you drink some of the wine you buy for your wife and Emma?”

I see where some of you, who are wondering, are going with your questions and frankly, I’m offended.

I mean, you have a valid point but, still, I’m offended.

When I left the liquor store, I opened the back of my car to put to the wine and beer away when I noticed something odd. I had nowhere to put the wine and beer.

The reason I had nowhere to put the wine and beer was because my car was full of shoes and clothes which was strange because I’m not really much of a collector of shoes and clothes.

Then I remember something. A couple of weeks ago, we made a quick jaunt up to Lawrence, Kansas to pick up the rest of the stuff Emma had left in her college apartment.

When we got my car loaded with Emma’s stuff, I remember telling her I didn’t want her to feel as if she needed to take everything out of the car at once.

“I don’t want you to be overwhelmed,” I said. “You should ease into it.”

Sure, I know now that was a mistake but at the time?

Not so much.

When I was younger and single, I owned a series of-to use an automotive term- “crappy” cars. Here, in order, are the crappy cars I owned: A 1967 Chevy Impala. A 1972 Opal Manta and a 1983 Ford Escort.

The Ford Escort didn’t start off crappy. It was new when I bought it. The Ford Escort was the first new car I ever bought. Of course, to keep the cost down, I opted for the Ford Escort with the fewest accessories. If I remember correctly it came with a steering wheel.

Oh, and I think, three, maybe four tires.

Because I drove a series of crappy cars, back then, I didn’t worry much about keeping them clean and clutter free. I mean, what would have been the point?

But after I got married the condition of the cars my wife and I owned improved and I began to care about keeping them clean and clutter free.

As time went on, I discovered my wife didn’t share my obsession with keeping cars clean and clutter free.

If the EPA were still in the business of protecting the environment it would declare my wife’s car a Super Fund site.

Assuming the EPA could actually get into my wife’s car.

When my wife’s car is full of too much clutter, even for her, she drives my car and, when she does, somehow manages to add clutter to it which I then have to remove.

But now, my car is full of Emma’s clutter and there is nothing, really, I can do to declutter it.

The only positive spin I can put on losing control of my car is I don’t really have anywhere I need to go which means I don’t really need to have control of my car.

Still, it would be nice to have room for beer and wine.

But again, to put a positive spin on things, if all of Emma’s stuff wasn’t in my car it would be in our house.

And, if all of Emma’s stuff was in our house, my wife would decide we need to reorganize it and, I’m sorry, there is no way to put a positive spin on reorganizing all of Emma’s stuff.

Even if beer and wine were involved.