Yesterday, my zippy little car (ZLC) reached a crisis point. Something broke inside which would wind up costing a significant portion of a new car.
I love my ZLC. My tiny, bright orange Mitsubishi Colt. I loved how I could just cruise into tight spaces or manouvre like a dream with it.
I’ve had it for ten years. That’s a long time for any piece of technology.
It was the most expensive birthday present I ever had. The most useful, too. My ZLC was freedom incarnate.
But, because maintaining my ZLC will henceforth cost us more for less, in a cardboard boots kind of way (for more on the boots economic theory, read Terry Pratchett’s _Guards! Guards!_) my ZLC must be traded in for something newer and cheaper to maintain.
It’s sad, but that’s the way it has to be.
I’m going to miss it, and not just because I’m now inheriting my hubby’s big blue landbarge. I’m going to miss everything it was to me and all the fun I had with it.
So if you want a nice, second-hand car, look for a little, orange Mitsubishi Colt with a few little dents and a vaguely swampy smell in the carpeting. They’ll probably remove the bumper sticker that reads, “Shoot. Loot. Skin. Cook. Dedicated camper.” because bumper stickers don’t sell cars.
Give it a good home. I loved it, but I have to let it go. It meant a lot to me, and I know it will be the best car ever for someone else.
Because it already has been.