The most horrific, mortifying, terrible, stomach churning, heart palpitating, anxiety producing thing has happened to me. I know, I know, it happens to us all sooner or later and all there is to do is pick up the pieces and trudge forward. There's no going back, no un-ringing the bell, no breathing life back into it. It just is. Engine lights come on. Cars die.
"It's too old, it has too many miles, it must go." My husband says. He's brought home brochures from every dealership in Northern California, he seems a little too happy to me.
I fear he may have somehow poisoned little old Sadie, whether with shoddy upkeep or just bad vibes, I don't know. She has clearly lost her will to live, but I don't know if I can move on. I can safely change the radio station and find the windshield wipers in the dark, how long before I can do that in a new car? I can park anywhere without fear of door dings or high curbs, Sadie is pre-scuffed on all four sides. The seat belts are safely held in with eight years of gummy bear goo and juice box drippings, you can't get that kind of safety package on new models, nope--pre-owned only. She has a cassette player, bet those don't come standard on your run-of-the-mill new model, either. My husband's trying to sell me on heated seats or that back-up camera thingy, but what do I need with that when I have the piece of mind of knowing that my keyless remote can go through a full laundry cycle, many times, and still come out twerping? And, I'm pretty sure I can't get that Nemo the fish antenna topper off either, so I'll lose that too.
It's all too sad to think about.