I have discovered that I am on exactly the same downhill plunge as my car. I am 51 years old, my car is a little red convertible, and it is 18 years old. If 1 car year is equal to 2.9 human years, (and I think it is) then my car and I are the same age. So that prompted me to think….. When my car was younger, the paint job looked shiny and bright…..just like my skin used to look. Now we both have age spots….
When it was younger, it could go long distances without the fear of breaking down….now we both get exhausted going around the block. When my car was younger, it attracted a lot of attention, because it is a cute car…..I remember those days.
My car used to have seats without tears in the fabric, or stains and blemishes…..I used to have no wrinkles or scars.
When my car was younger, people liked to ride in it……you’ll have to read my memoirs about that one…
When my car was younger, the dipstick always came out with a good reading….I get annual physicals and hope for the same results.
When my car was less old than it is now, it was cheaper to fill up….I can’t stop eating…… If my car doesn’t get enough action, it won’t start without a jump……I’m the same, only I have to have drugs as well….and caffeine….
My tires lose air just like my boobs have been doing lately. The aerial just snapped off my car, my hair breaks, and so does my nails. Uncanny isn’t it? But I must admit that I do love my little car and I won’t be parted from it. Somehow it is an object that people associate with me, and that is okay. It is a piece of my history and the subject of fond memories.
I can remember my 23 year-old son cringing with embarrassment when he rode in the little red car with me for the first time. So tall that his head extended above the level of the windshield because the top was down on the car. He covered his eyes with one hand, shook his head and shouted over the loud music blasting from my speakers -“Mom, when you have an amp and a boom-box, you CAN’T play Neil Diamond….!!!!”
And those memories of the odd time I have had male attention from guys driving behind me, who seeing a red convertible and long hair become quite disappointed when they pull alongside me and see that I am a 51 year-old white-headed woman, not a 25 year- old blonde….
But there are those other memories too – if I go into the trunk of my car, I can still find dog hairs from my dear Labrador Duke, who died two and a half years ago, and somehow his hair would get everywhere, even in the trunk! How could I give those up when they are all I have left of him? My car is in the shop today, getting tuned up, detailed and a cracked axle replaced. It’s my turn to go in tomorrow…… Beep Beep n Beep Beep yeah!! Jude the Hotrod Racer