An Open Letter to my Cars

All this car talk has reminded me of a little fact:  I have owned many cars in my day. Eric jokes that I like to drive around in his car, and find the crappiest car on the street with a 'For Sale' sign and buy that car. He's pretty close. Here are some things I have wanted to say to the various cars I have owned:

Dear Ford Escort:

Hey! You were my first car! You were the car that anyone with at least three fingers could break into. I especially appreciated the fact that the previous owner took out the whole heating system. Who needs it! Especially in Chicago! I also appreciated that the previous owner decided to put a sunroof in the car too. And that he didn't know what he was doing, and caulked around it with bathtub caulk. Remember how when it would start raining, I would close your ghetto sunroof around a Chicago Suntimes and I knew I had roughly half an hour to get where I was going before the paper would soak through and it would start pouring in the interior? Those were fun times. You always smelled of mildew and must. Anyone can get that fancy new car smell, but not you, you gave me dank basement every day I drove you. We named you Holden the Ghetto Hoopdie, because you were so picky. Then your trans started to fail, and that was the death of you.

Dear Buick Century:

We named you Eugene the Death Metal Machine because that is how you sounded - you sounded like the kind of car I could die in. Also, you had bad breaks when I got you, so you would screech like you were wailing on a guitar. You were hands down the best car I have ever owned. People were always surprised to see me driving you, since you were  so very much an old man's car. I have never had so many old men say that my car was sexy as when I was driving you. Then your transmission died, and that was the end of you.

Dear Bessie the Pickup:

In fairness, your name wasn't Bessie. And you weren't my truck, you were Eric's, who was kind enough to let me drive it. You helped every single one of my friends move. Then my neighbor stole you, and that was the end of you.

Dear Firebird:

You were my nicest looking car. I bought you from George, and you lasted well over a year. People would pull up next to us and try to race us, and I would laugh and say no, because I wasn't 100% sure your seatbelts would work in an accident.

Remember when your window decided to fall down and I didn't know it, and then it snowed like 3 feet and I had to shovel out your interior? Remember how I duct taped your window up? Yeah, that was fun.  Then your transmission started to go, and Eric and I traded you in for our current car, the Mitsubishi, which, just so you know, is holding up quite well, and has a great warranty on the transmission.

Seriously, I can totally see why the American car industry is failing. The Mitsubishi is fricken awesome. And, for the record, it's my first car that gets more than 25 miles to the gallon. And no one can break into it, no matter how many fingers they have.