I
met her nearly 8 year ago. It was love at first site. In my haste to
sweep her off her wheels, I hardly noticed the baggage she carried.
She tried to hide it, but she was treated poorly before I got my hands on her. She was beaten; her body was
damaged. She rode with a limp (the passenger-side rear tire still
wobbles to this day). I didn't realize then how high maintenance she would be.
Yep. A college kid like me had no business getting involved with a dame
like that... but I couldn't help myself. Her engine purr was my Siren
song; her repairs, my sea of destruction.
Two stereos were stolen from her frail frame. My best friend tried to
kill her once (he swears it wasn't his fault); so did my boss (he,
unlike my "friend", generously gave me $ to fix her up again). She even tried to take her
own life (in Temple, TX) rather than move to Houston with us.
But as much grief as she has given me, it was still hard to let her go
(I donated Shelly to the Salvation Army). My eyes were a little
moist as she took off into the sunset, in the arms of another man.
Good times. Noodle salad.