Friday, September 25, 2009

RIP, Grasshopper

Beloved Car

I used to talk a lot of sh!t about you. I know that. I used to complain all the time about how inefficient and old you were, how beat up you looked, and I used to refer to you as a ___teen year old piece of crap. Whenever someone saw you for the first time, I’d preface it with an explanation about how it’s not my fault that you looked as awful as you did.

But I want you to know that I actually really cared about you. I used to feed you instead of feeding myself, even if I were down to my last $20; if that’s not an act of love, I don’t know what is. If/Until I have kids, there probably will not be anyone in the world that I’d feed before myself if we were both starving. And face it - you were very expensive to feed...not to mention high-maintenance. But I loved you, so it didn’t matter.

I still remember how I thrilled I was the day you came to me. I was breathlessly happy, and as I looked at you, I thought, Here is my freedom. You were my legs!

I’ll always remember the numerous secret shopping trips you and I took together. Whenever I really, really wanted a new book, or a killer outfit, or some gorgeous shoes, or a manicure before I really needed one, we’d just go. Whenever I needed to escape, you whisked me away and effectively saved my sanity many times over.

And when I came home from France, I was so antsy when I couldn’t go out with you right away. It wasn’t until I took that long-awaited first spin with you that I fully understood just how much I missed you; I was beaming the whole way.

Thank you for being such a loyal friend. Thank you for always being there for me. And most of all, thank you for doing your best to protect me even in the last moment; you did spectacularly, and no one got seriously hurt. You did good, kid. I miss you.

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