Car may be decrepit, but it’s not ready to die yet

Published 8:08 am Monday, September 20, 2010

My gal passed a major milestone.

All the more remarkable because she is old and decrepit. She’s had her legs replaced, needs a new eyeball and sports wrinkles on her backside.

And the poor lady leaks.

Ive always thought of my 1993 Toyota Corolla as a female. I pat my Corolla’s dashboard, telling her she’s been a good girl. Especially when my husband, Chuck, insists the old bag needs to be retired.

That’s just so much baloney.

My one-owner gal just passed the 200,000 mile mark on her odometer. She has no immediate health problems that require a burial.

But Chuck is ready to ship her to the auto graveyard. He adores car shopping. He drags me to a big auto show every year where he makes me sit in the driver’s seat of potential new rides. Chuck no longer drives. So I have to pretend to care if my purse fits between the seats, if my left elbow has a soft cushion to rest under the automatic window controls and if the back seat adequately holds our two granddaughters.

My hubby wants to be ready in case my Toyota gives up the ghost.

But year after year, season after season, my gal and I keep rolling between Mill Creek and Everett.

It’s not a carefree roll. I had to laugh the other day when my daughter, Kati, borrowed my buggy.

“Sit up tall to peer over the crack in the windshield,” I told Kati. “The tires are good in the rain.”

On the flip side, I told her that the passenger front window doesn’t roll down anymore.

Don’t lock the doors because they don’t unlock.

Oh, and the key won’t always pull out of the ignition so there is a can of WD-40 in the back seat to squirt in the area around the key, but that doesn’t always work, so I keep a pair of pink snow gloves handy to cover the key when it gets stuck.

I told Kati not to drive over 55 mph because my girl doesn’t always shift. Most mornings, the lady prefers to be thoroughly warmed up before plopping into the highest gear about the time I sashay past Everett Mall on I-5.

If you hear it shift, Kati, you can go faster.

As my daughter was pulling out of our driveway, I waved goodbye to my best gal pal, and my daughter, on her way to her manager’s job at Hooters at Lake Union.

Kati rolled down the window with a question.

How do I get the emergency brake light off?

I forgot to mention that.

The emergency brake light never turns off.

My son, Brody, a sales director at Microsoft, who has two schmancy automobiles in his Woodinville garage, asked his Dad the other day when Mom was getting a new ride.

Never, Chuck grumbled. She’ll never give up that car.

He’s right. I plan to drive her straight through Alzheimers.

I’ll get her fixed if she has a stroke. There will be a time of mourning when her ailment becomes a fatality.

Chuck will hold my hand at the end and gleefully drag me straight to the nearest car dealership.

Kristi OHarran: 425-339-3451, oharran@heraldnet.com.