For approximately 2,765 days, I was the proud owner of a 1999 Toyota Corolla.
His name was Bruce. Because I bought myself a bobble-head chihuahua of the same name to sit on my dash when my dad decided to buy me his coworker’s old red 1992 Cabrio. Then he got it checked out by a mechanic and changed his mind. So bobble-head Bruce sat on my bedside table for weeks. Eventually it was decided that I would be buying myself a car. So my savings were emptied and my parents went to pick out my car.
I do realize how opposite that is of every kid’s dream. Most of my friends got free reign to pick out whatever car would be purchased for them. I handed over my money and waited in my room, looking out the window, to see what they’d decided on for me. (My dad was an insurance agent. So that makes more sense now I’m sure.)
This was Bruce. I had showered while waiting.
I loved Bruce like he was my child. Although I kind of suck at taking care of things so after almost 7 full years with Bruce, I think he only got two or three car washes. Much to Big Daddy’s chagrin. But still, I loved him, as if he were my (dirty, mistreated) child.
Big Daddy drives for a living. The better the weather, the busier he is, and that means 6+ hours of driving a day – usually more. His crappy 2004 Jeep had oh about 180,000 miles on it as of wedding time last month.
Enter April Fools’ Day. He’s all, my car broke down again. And I’m all, you’re hilarious. And he’s all, this isn’t a joke. And I’m all, you got me! Ha ha ha. Now stop. And he was all… MY FUCKING CAR BROKE DOWN. I’M NOT FUCKING JOKING. So yea, I deducted from that that he wasn’t joking, and his car did in fact break down. During driving season, it was always a part needed here and there, monthly oil changes, frequent new tires, the works. It became apparent that the Jeep (which is
purple maroon, by the way) wouldn’t make it to see Fall 2010 if Big Daddy drove it all summer. So what did we do?
We sold Bruce. And bought a new 2010 Camry. It’s dark green so I was ok with it.
(Meet Finnegan. My original name idea of O’Houlihan was vetoed.)
So yea. Here’s where it gets sad. Finn? He is Big Daddy’s daily vehicle. I got Barney the
Purple Maroon Dinosaur.
(Pictured above in 2007 during Homecoming at IU, Big Daddy’s alma mater, in front of the house he lived in… if you could call that house-full-of-men living.)
So recap- we sold my car, and got a brand new one, which he got, and I drive the Barney mobile. I deducted from this all that it makes me the best wife ever. I am secretly a little upset that people aren’t stopping me on the street and asking to shake my hand. I mean, look:
182,353 hard-trekked miles. I have a 14 mile round-trip commute up the street each day, so it wasn’t a big deal for me, as opposed to his hundred plus miles a day. See that check engine light? It’s on about 50% of the time. You know… when it feels like it. Big Daddy would have had to get it serviced after a week… it’ll last me a month or two before I have to look at it. (He had the problem diagnosed so we know what it is, FYI. I won’t explode in my car or anything.)
So where does my creepiness come in? Every time I see a car similar to Bruce I flip out. I find myself getting misty thinking about where he is now, who is driving him. I hope they’re nice. Do they realize that his name is Bruce? That he “grew up” in New Jersey? That he doesn’t like going over 65 mph?
For their sake and mine, I hope we never meet.