I traded in my 2003 GTI today. I take delivery on my new car tomorrow. (Doesn’t matter what the new car is. She’s great. Loaded. Bells. Whistles. She’s hot. Everyone, from Edmunds to Car and Driver to Consumer Reports says so.) Tonight in my garage I sat in my beloved GTI, bagged up my belongings from its bins (floss, FasTrak transponder, garage remote, ChapStick etc.) and just hung out in the seat with a couple of glasses of wine, listening to KFOG on the (pathetic) monsoon radio.
She was the best car I ever owned.
She’s been a total bitch. She cheated on me. She stranded me in remote locations and flashed her warning lamps (such a tease) whenever I strayed more than a few miles from an authorized service center. She made me sweat in the desert, without music, when her AC and radio died at the same time. Her switches and coils failed. Her latches broke. Her finishes peeled. Her windows crashed into her doorsills. Yet…I loved her.
My new car is going to be a joy to own. She’s mature, sophisticated, smart and very well equipped. And low maintenance. But I know I’m leaving a bit of myself behind along with my beloved VW. So be it. I’ve outgrown the drama of our relationship. Love. Hate. Love. Hate. Hate. Hate.
I’ll miss my GTI. And like any relationship, I’ll remember how much fun she was and I’ll conveniently forget how freaking miserable she made me during our 5 years together.
She’ll be on the street tomorrow (whore), drawing both men and women to her with her timeless beauty and willingness to play. She’ll charm whomever succumbs. She’ll be the most fun they’ve ever had.
Then, she’ll make their life hell.
I hope this bitch finds herself in the crusher soon.
Edited by RandyNovak on 12/09/07 at 10:14 PM