January 4, 2011

Infidelity Blues or, What I Learned From Cheating On My Car.

Donovan and I have been together for about 2 years now.  He’s young, spry, responds well to my touch, and even likes it rough.  His cheery exterior belies the heart of a lion.  His diminutive size is perhaps his greatest asset.   He is, by almost every measure, the perfect car. However, ours is not a perfect relationship.  And we recently parted company for a few days.  This is a summary of the events that followed.

It started over a fight.  I was in a measure of pain and headed back to work after a Doctor’s appointment.  Now, one of the things I like about Donovan is that he’s a sturdy boy and can keep up with my enthusiasm.  As such, he’s temperamental.  Perhaps I was a bit too firm in my demands.  I said “I’m shifting to second now.”  And being the brat that he is, he obliged and then promptly refused to shift any further.
So, the silent treatment began.  I seethed in the driver’s seat.  He sat, pulled off to the side of the road in stoney silence.  Long story short, he says he needs to take a break and crash on his buddy’s hoist for a few days so he can cool off.  Fine, don’t let the hatchback hit you in the ass on the way out the door.  Stupid car…
It was at about this moment when I found myself in the presence of a short, dark, and mysterious foreigner.  Oh, be still my beating heart.  His lines were aggressive.  His clearcoat highlighted the gold flecks in that chocolate brown lines.  He had curves in all the right places, and he drove me wild at the sight of him.
He took my breath away on the road.  I said “pass ‘em!” and his glorious turbocharger barely broke a sweat.  We took cloverleaves shamelessly at 70, dusted a few Hondas, and got into just enough trouble to keep it interesting.  (Yes officer, I totally agree.  Safety first.)
It wasn’t without problems though.  His hill assist bothered me, and he griped about my not being able to hit his friction point.  “You’re too low” he’d complain as he bucked under the stoplight.  Suffice to say, it was fun while it lasted, however brief.  There was just no…  soul in it.  There was only power.  And power without passion is cold.
Donovan and I are back together now, and up to our same tricks.  There’s something comforting about knowing exactly where your corners are, being able to expect a reaction and getting it, and commuting on instinct.  It’s a team.  Two halves of a fluid whole.  And I missed that.  I was wrong to think that some flashy “Next Big Thing” could replace him.  He, and his quirks, is the only MINI for me.
The moral of this story? Thankfully, I learned a lesson about cheating on my car before I learned it cheating on my love.

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