Ask me about my TOYOTA...

Tomorrow, some big, bruiser-guy is coming to take my baby away. My 1989 Toyota, which met it's death on a rainy afternoon after having anal sex with the car in front of me. Yes. You heard right. Needless to say, that kind of intimacy is best approached gently. Also needless to say, that sort of gentle approach was unavailable to me at the moment. Or moments. Those lonnnnnnnnnng three seconds as I slid in sloooooooooooow motion into the SUV in front of me. Yipeee! EyeOh. Kaiay....

Not often does one need to confront members of the State Police after a sexual encounter. Unless of course there is glass strewn about, and twisted metal, and heaving sighs of steam forthcoming from the, um, orifice in question. As was the case with my illicit mingling in the rain, in broad daylight. The shame! The horror!

Oh. My favorite auto...and now I look at others, each one having identical rust around the wheel wells, and the boxy shapes and I sigh.

So Mr. Billy Brusier TakeAway is coming tomorrow to make her gone from my driveway. And from my life.

I shall spend today searching under the seats for lost coins. And claiming receipts from long ago...(don't want "them" finding any credit card info about, ya know) and being brave enough to actually dig under the seats for pens and such.

Then she will be gone...and I will have only memories and photographs to remember her by.

Le Sigh....