An Open Letter To My Car

My car died on me yesterday. First there was a sickening grinding noise when I accelerated, then smoke started coming from the tailpipe. And that was it. Barely any warning. Bitch just turned on me.

I feel like I've been dumped. We've been together 11 years. I love that car. Yesterday, when I got the fateful call from my mechanic, I couldn't believe it. I sat there with my head in my hands, hot tears running down my cheeks. Then I ran five miles while while listening to Carrie Underwood on my ipod. Then I cried some more. Then I rented a car so I could drive to the salon and get a bunch of my hair chopped off. And then of course I got shit-faced. Pretty typical break-up stuff.

As it turns out, none of that emoting and binge drinking did anything to mend my broken heart. Also, I'm reasonably sure that another such night would do irrepairable damage to both my wallet and my interpersonal relationships. So I'm going to try to avoid that by telling my car exactly how I feel:






Dear Katmobile,


I knew this day would come, but if I knew it were coming so soon I would have done something nice for you like wash your windows or take you for a drive down the PCH. Also, I probably would've held off on filling your gas tank. But hey, that's life. Anyways, I just wanted to thank you for running as long as you did. I think 14 years and 155,000 miles is damn respectable by anyone's standards. I'll never forget the first time we went for a drive without one of my parents in the passenger seat. Remember that day? You took me to work at Roche Bros. supermarket. Yeah you do!

Thanks for taking me across the country. The first time I ever saw the desert was through your windshield. Remember when we first moved here and we used to drive to the ocean every night just to look at it? Those were good times for us. Thank you for taking me so many places over the course of so many years. Thank you for keeping me safe that time I crashed you into that civic because I was looking at a cat instead of at the road. Thank you for letting me live in you after I moved out of my boyfriend's place. And thanks for carting around so many wigs and costumes and assorted props.

I have some regrets though. I should have changed your oil more often. And god knows I should have washed you more often. I'm really sorry about all the crumbs I mashed into your carpet. And I do feel kinda bad about the time I gave Brian McPhillips a hand job in your backseat after the winter formal. That was just disrespectful. I'm sorry about that time I got high and crashed you into Beau's fence...and Beau. I'm sorry about all the jokes you had to hear about the way you looked. Yeah, you were boxy and beat up and you smelled like cheese...but I loved you. I'm sorry that I never super-glued that interior light to your ceiling so that it didn't hang by a wire anymore. I always meant to do that. Mostly I'm sorry that all these years after you delivered me safely to California that I couldn't make enough money to repair you or replace you. I imagine you're a little disappointed in me. Hey, you couldn't wait around forever. It's not your fault. Thanks for taking me this far. I'll sure miss you.