My Car

 Image result for music symbolBelieve it or not, I started to worry
I wondered if I had enough class
But it was Saturday night, I guess that makes it all right
And you say, “Baby, have you got enough gas?”, Oh yeah
Little Red Corvette
Baby, you’re much too fast
(Yes, you are)
Little Red Corvette
You need to find a love that’s gonna last
(Oh, oh)Image result for music symbol

About 12 years ago I bought a Corvette.  A little red Corvette.  It was not new.  It had some miles on it.  It needed some work.  I really wanted a Jeep Wrangler, but my husband for some reason thought I wanted a vette.  I’m not complaining.  That car changed my life.  I quit smoking and started running.  I began to identify (in my mind at least) with its sleek, fast beauty.  It doesn’t slow down for anyone.

Twelve years down the road, the car has some noticeable wear and tear.  Every time I get in, something falls off and lands on the floor.   The light on the passenger side door dangles by its wires.  The door handle on the same side has popped off its bracket.  I’ve had them fixed, but they still sag.  The Targa top, a removable glass top,  is held on right now with duct tape.  I had it reglued once, but it is time for another nip and tuck.


I have used duct tape to hold the radio antenna in place and to cover rips in the car seat.  The windshield wipers are not working.  I just had that fuse replaced a couple of weeks ago.  I wonder if duct tape would work on that.

My husband and I bought a new car a little over a year ago — a Honda CRV.  The plan was that he would drive the vette and I would get the new car.  That dream lasted for a week.  He has trouble climbing in and out of.

Only now, I’m not so sure that I want to get rid of it.  My friends make fun of me.  “Mid-life crisis!” “Why are you still driving it?”  My mechanic says its his retirement plan.  It spends more time in the shop than on on the road.  Me too car.  Me too.


I never have trouble racing onto the highway though.  Sometimes we both need to just let loose and clean out the junk in our systems.  The car does not like to idle.  While sitting at stop lights, I have to hold it tight, restraining it while it impatiently waits for the green light to send us tearing down the road again.   I don’t like to be held back either.

We are  aging.  We make strange noises when we move.   My car is held together with duct tape.  I’m held together with Spanx.  We sag, leak, and creak.  We rattle, hiccup, and backfire as we roll down the road.  We’re both a little worse with wear and tear.  I have a nasty, greasy wishbone shaped scar on my knee from a crash I had with the road while out for a run.  The car has scars from neighbor kids bicycles scratching against its body.


Sometimes guys notice my car — even at my age.  “I love your car.” “Nice car.”

One day I was sitting at a stop light and some guy pulls up with his music blaring.  Why do people do that?  I gave him a disapproving shake of my head.  He yells at me.  “Hey lady!  The 1980’s want their car back.”  I yelled back.  “It’s a 1990.”  Dumbass.

My Corvette just became a classic.


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