I have a love/hate relationship with my car.
Seriously. She’s kind of a bitch. But then I can’t help but love her. It’s almost to the point of being abusive. Just when I get fed up, she does something nice that reels me back in.
I spend $84.00 to fill her up? She responds with plenty of room for the kids, the luggage and the dog for our road trip to Louisiana. And then she sweetens the deal with the built-in DVD player.
Now I kinda like her again.
I can’t resist her feminine wiles. Is this what it feels like to be a dude?
And just when I feel like we’ve turned the corner and are on our way to healthy relationship full of mutual respect for one another? The stupid gas light comes on. “Fuel Level Low”.
Oh, hell no.
Check washer fluid? Change your oil? Buckle my seatbelt? Rear hatch ajar?
What the hell is wrong with you, Lolita? What? Am I not good enough for you anymore? You know what? If you think you can do better, then why don’t you just go out there and see! I keep you (sort of) clean, dig the crusty French fries out from under your seats, make sure the sweaty tee-ball equipment doesn’t stay in you overnight and program your radio stations to nothing but cool music! But, no, really, go ahead…maybe you’ll find someone who will condition your leather and vacuum your carpets. Seriously…be my guest.
Oh what was that? You have a cool front-end replacement bumper with kick-ass KC lights? 4-wheel drive? A towing package?
I picked the wrong year to get involved with a Tahoe.