An open letter to my car

Dear Jack,

You know I love you. Not just because we're both super German and have beer sloshing around our bellies almost always. Well, in your case it's empty beer bottles in your trunk, but it's practically the same thing. Not just because you're so loud (and with that double exhaust) everyone assumes you're a racing car - and of course my driving does nothing to dissuade the masses. Not just because your backseat seat belt comes from the middle of the seat and pisses everyone off, and I secretly love it.

I knew when I bought you it would mean giving up my beloved Mulva, a marvel of Swedish engineering with a surprising lack of cup holders and one really shitty mirror (hey, those Swedes KNOW they look good), for a car I knew would drive more than 80 miles without having to be towed to the nearest mechanic. And while Mulva would start after weeks of sitting in snow and ice and bitter cold, I knew it was time to move on.

We've known each other for a while now, almost three years, but I need to get some things off my chest. I've taken good care of you. Your outlandish requests for full synthetic 5/40 oil. Some places I go don't even know such a grade exists. It does. And it's freaking expensive.

I don't much care for your high maintenance 'battery in the trunk practically underneath the spare tire' move. I could handle when the back window stopped working and when pieces of the doors started falling off. I realize you haven't been through the car wash in a while, and I understand that might upset you, but the last time I went you ended up with 2 inches of water inside the car. Still don't know how the hell that one happened. And since I'm too lazy to wash you on my own, here we are.

Now you've pulled out the big guns. Fuel filter, alternator belt, axle, power steering, leaking transmission. This will not stand. Please suck it up and keep from falling apart until I can afford to fix you. I'd really appreciate it.

Regards,

Nicole