The Fretful Mother's Blog

My car is getting ready to die, I just know it. It has 167,000 miles on it, a hole in the roof and ice cream on the seats. It was the car I pretty much surrendered to the kids. I’m now looking for a new car and praying the old one will make it to at least be traded in for floor mats or something.
Lately I’ve had to give it extra gas when starting in the morning. I try to talk to it nicely in order not to upset it, but I don’t know how much longer that will work. I think it wants a new family. Probably one without kids. Or at least one without kids who don’t use cup holders as sucker receptacles. The car probably just needs to be torched and put out of its misery.
I am thankful for all the abuse it’s taken up until now without any complaints. I mean, how many cross-state trips can you expect in one month (four is not unusual). But I think we are at the point of hospice care for the car. I should probably take it for one last detailing. Get it all cleaned up and then send it off. Maybe it will give me one last push and pretend it’s not dying for the trade-in car dealer. Maybe it will put in a good word for me with the next car. Maybe I’ll even give it some air freshener. You can never be too safe.

This entry was posted on January 28, 2010 at 12:04 pm and is filed under Fear of the Day. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.