31. Maybe it’s my ride?

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This is Rhonda.

She’s my ride: We’ve been together since the spring of ’09. She’s a station wagon, which makes her not only sporty and fashionable, but also sturdy and reliable. Well, mostly reliable. Usually she does a pretty good job of getting me from point A to point B but lately… Well, lately she’s been a bit of a bitch.

I’m not a mechanic, so I don’t know WHY this is happening, but I do know that every once in a while — usually on wet days, with lots of puddles — Rhonda won’t start. She will start once, maybe twice, and then she just gives up.

Rhonda is a quitter.

She is also usually filthy — which is partially (all) my fault — and not very stylish (I don’t want to use the word unattractive because I love her… But you get the gist). At one point in time I’m sure station wagons were ALL the rage, but those days are LONG gone. The masses have moved on from station wagons and onto their more sophisticated counterparts: SUVs & crossovers. She’s also starting to rust, her windshield wipers are on their last legs, and she has a monster crack in her windshield that I won’t be able to fix for at least the next 4 years because I spend all my money on food and fashion. Also, her previous owners were avid skiers (apparently) and they left their mark on Rhonda… Specifically on her bumper. Via bumper stickers.

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…Yeah.

But what my ride lacks in looks she makes up for in gas mileage. And interior space. And comfort. And she’s paid off, so that frees up funds to spend on other things I “need” — clothes, make-up, food. She might not be a looker, but she’s mine. Which brings me to my next point…

I was thinking about Rhonda the other day, and how my vehicle is an extension of myself. Although I love Rhonda, she has never really been the crowd favourite. As a station wagon she has been the butt of many jokes. She is neither fast, nor is she particularly stealthy, and if she was a human I can only imagine her as a frumpy middle-aged woman, who possesses a unique intelligence but lacks the confidence and emotional strength to ever express it. As a station-wagon owner, I may start to represent these not-so-desirable attributions. I don’t want to be held in the same esteem as frumpy, human-form Rhonda. This made me consider how my ride — and more so what my car represents — might be at the root of my singleness. Could it be that I’m single because Rhonda lacks style, flair, panache, sophistication and/or pizzazz?

Maybe.

I won’t say that I’m EMBARRASSED by Rhonda, because as discussed in this post, I no longer possess the ability to feel ashamed, BUT I have thought in passing that maybe if she were cooler, more hip, and had a bit more elan, I would have, at the very least, a slightly better chance of not being alone.

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