There's still thunder in this 'bird

So it's come to this, my 12-year-old friend: leaves are piling up on you. You sit in our driveway and never go anywhere, ever since I got that other car whose name we won't mention. (Believe me, I didn't want a new car. But when we knew we were going to have a baby, JP insisted on something reliable and with four doors.) Gosh, I don't even know if your engine would start after not driving you for more than a year and a half.

They don't make your kind anymore -- you're not even listed on AskPatty.com's CarBlabber -- but you know what? I still think you're great. Bright red (I secretly nicknamed you The Lips) with soft velour seats, you were my first new car. You carried me on long commutes when I worked so far away. You were a good sport when that teenage girl rear-ended you one rainy day. And you were quite a flirty-dude magnet. (Remember that one guy?! You know the one....) With a roomy interior, huge trunk and rear-wheel drive, you had a lot going for you.

But for a while now you have had issues -- namely, you don't really care for any transmission we've put in you. Your philosphy seems to be Eh, who needs get-up-and-go anyway? Overrated. The only action you see these days is when the UPS man ogles you on at least a monthly basis ("You gonna sell me that car yet?") or I get a rare chance to give you a scrub. I'd love to send you off to a beautiful new life, but JP insists we put (another) transmission in you before we let you go. Something about asking prices. I guess it's just not a priority right now. And so you sit.

No matter what happens, you'll always have a special place in my heart.

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