A little story about an old car

So, I’m at Starbucks. Not terribly unusual for me, I love “girly” coffee with lots of sugary drizzle on top. In fact, I’m a bit of a bona fide addict. Seriously. They see me coming and start prepping my order.
But as much as I love Starbucks coffee, I’d rather not be here right now. I’d much rather be doing something else…I’d rather be driving home from work. But I can’t; driving requires a car and mine’s in the shop. Again.
Okay, that last bit’s not fair. It’s been a good six months or more since my car last broke down; for the most part she is a sturdy old thing that gets me where I need to go–as long as it’s not in Louisville. She’s a sunny-side only kind of girl (for those of you not fortunate enough to live in the Kentuckiana area, “sunny side” refers to the Indiana side of the Ohio river). True, she’s not glamorous or luxurious and none of my friends will get in her…they’ve heard too many stories, I guess. But she’s my first car, only cost me $2,000 to buy her and the frame is as sturdy as the engine. Not that I’ve been testing the limits of said frame, mind you.
She’s ancient, made in ’91. Actually, she’s a year younger than me, but I’m holding my age better. Like me, she likes to go fast (if you don’t believe me, ask my mother). The heater puts out heat like a furnace, which is just fine by me. I like it hot. I’ve had her for three and half years and I’ve accumulated a lot of history in that old thing. I’ve cried, laughed, sang songs at the top of my lungs in her. I’ve puzzled out large sections of writing in her. When I first was looking at her, I hated her, but she was the only working vehicle within my budget. Since then, we’ve hammered out what you could call a “complicated, semi-dysfunctional” relationship. I cuss at her and look at other cars. She breaks down at regular intervals and refuses to do Louisville traffic.
But the engine runs great and she’s gets amazingly good gas milage, so I guess I figure, better the devil you know. Or the damned old car, as the case may be.

Come on, mechanic’s. I want my old beater back!