This post is dedicated to a special lady.
She'll never leave me. Perhaps one day we'll part company, but oh a teary, teary farewell that will be! She's always honest, never lies. She's faithful, mostly. She's always there when I need her, never complains. Even though I've been upset with her she never holds a grudge. She's always excited to see me, and willing to forgive if I forget the important things. Best of all, she's always enthusiastic and encourages me to try my very best. She's the greatest, and at only twelve grand (roughly) she's the best cost-to-love-ratio lady I'll ever meet.
That's right, she's Jenny, my car. I'll admit, that previous paragraph was a little creepy. But every sappy word is true.
I don't follow a lot of the American Dream. A motorized tie rack and sparkling white picket fence don't really do it for me. But I love my car. Me and that guy with his Pep Boys special winged-out Honda. Me and the guy with the sweet 70's van. Me and that cowgirl with her brand new pickup truck. Our chests puff out with American Pride as we merge into traffic without signaling and pollute off into the sunset collectively as one mobile nation under God (who probably rides a Harley.)
But there's something more to this than just transportation. She's more than that, and I've never pretended she's not. When I was in the car dealership, at no point in time did the thought occur to me that this car was merely a box to sit in from point A to point B. I was thinking more along the lines of what to name her, and what license plate holder would best reflect her personality. And it's these kinds of thoughts that propel me to the mechanics with open checkbook in hand. Because it's not just a wheeled mechanical thing sitting outside that needs a new wheel bearing. It's Jenny, my love, and she's got a sprained ankle...and she needs my help!
If loving your car is American, then treating inanimate objects with the love, care and obsession normally reserved for, um, things that are breathing, is universal. In other words, a thousand children growing up right now, staring into the lifeless beady eyes of their teddy bears as they gently fall asleep will later be the same grownups that gently fall asleep in front of the single lifeless beady eye of their TV. And the television and the TiVo and the home theater system and even the La-Z-Boy recliner will receive the same devotion that good old Mr. Fuzzies did.
It's not creepy, it's just another way for us to remain sane in an otherwise crazy world. So this post is for you Jenny. In reality, you are an unfeeling, unthinking station wagon. In my mind, you are a wonderful woman, spiritual and understanding, feisty and rambunctious, practical and prompt and compassionate and caring. You are the Maid in the Meadow, the Demon Lover, the Stout-hearted Woman. The Tall & Quiet Woman...
You help keep me sane at the low, low price of an occasional oil change.
