Monday, July 07, 2008

Happy Birthday, you big blue hunk of metal

We have what I can honestly say is a rather odd relationship with our car.

First of all, we named it. This in and of itself is not completely unusual for me, as I can mark entire eras of my youth by which car I was driving:

I took the Cherry Bomb, my great-uncle's Mercury Monarch, to Butler and drove it until it caught on fire one night as several of my friends & I were headed out to Houlihans for Blue Whales after work. Oh yes, those were good times.

Next was the Cherry Bombette (original, yes?), a bright red Renault that also happened to be my first stick shift. Several friends still remind me of my poor upkeep on that car. Just because the breaks were metal on metal, guys -- come on. What's the big deal?

That car, I might add, also went up in flames. But that's a story for another post.

The Blue Bomber (detecting a theme, are you?) was a favorite, but I sure couldn't tell you why: No power steering, no air conditioner, and a really awful smell that came about after I spilled a LOT of hot chocolate in the back seat. (Had to keep my box office crew warm in that cold Butler Bowl ticket office!) I guess it was because it was a Jetta and I felt tres chic for having a European car.

Next came the Golden Chariot. Ah, the Golden Chariot... the first car I ever bought for myself, and I got it new. A 1995 Mazda 626 with manual transmission and a sun roof. Now this was living. And know what? 194,000 miles later we've still got it. I won't drive it any more, but we've got it and it hasn't failed us yet. (YET.)

Which brings us to Blu, the other woman in my marriage and a source of great solace for us all. At some point or another Rob started referring to Blu as "she" and there it was -- his second great love. She's a good car, Blu. She always runs, she smells good, and she can play Dora for 12 hours straight and never complain. She's lots better for road tripping than any of my previous vehicles as you can actually lay down in the back without having your knees in your face for hours at a stretch. She can tell you how to get where you need to go and, if you're snackish, will help you find the nearest spot to stop for a nosh.

Blu will never, ever, leave you without a place to put your drink.

She'll open the doors at the push of a button and let the back seat listen to Elmo while we in the front listen to XM radio. She gently reminds you when she needs an oil change but is like a dog with a bone until you get it done. (OK, that is a little annoying -- but a girl's gotta look out for herself and I can't fault her for that.)

Blu even has two glove compartments. Who knew that could be convenient? (Blu knew, that's who.)

So Happy 1st Birthday, Blu. Here's to many, many more. Because let's face it -- we'd be a mess without you. Seriously. A mess.

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