Once upon a time there was a little red rocket; that wasn’t her real name, but for our purposes, that is what we she call her. She was a 1991 ford laser, with the number plate 435 216, and she was my first car. The red rocket (or the red bullet as she was occasionally known) was bequeathed to me by my father after he obtained her from my aunts sister. She was a good little car; cheap and reliable. Sure she had no power steering, and her aircon eventually went the way of all things, but she got me from a to b and with very little maintenance besides. She was loved as much as a completely-indifferent-towards-cars person could; she was most helpful.
Then along came Boatman. He with his sexy shaggy hair, his white bankers shirt, and tight little bottom…
And his car.
A maroon Mazda 626 about the same age as the rocket, but so much prettier. Her sound system was better. Her aircon was colder. She had a sun roof and power windows. She was Divine Luxury for a single mum in housing commission with a hot boyfriend.
Gradually, ever so gradually, Divine Luxury left the company of Boatman, and instead yours truly managed to convince him that Red Rocket was far better for him to drive. Being the awesome guy that he is, he had no issues, and quite happily made the trade.
After all, his heart was set on a car we didn’t have; a Nissan patrol.
2006 came along with a new baby and a one year wedding anniversary… And Boatman’s dream.
A four wheel drive.
But not just any old four wheel drive. A 3 liter turbo diesel Gold Nissan Patrol.
It was impossible to see the attraction. In my mind she was big and bulky and a boys car. But Divine Luxury and I had each other, and that was all that mattered. Sadly, the arrival of the Beast meant we big Red Rocket fair well.
Occasionally Her presence is still spotted driving the streets of Darwin; that car will never die.
The arrival of baby number three coincided with one two many expensive service bills on our overpriced Mazda. Being the money man he is, Boatman decided it was time to upgrade. So Divine Luxury was sold, and the the Blue Bullet (we are so creative with names) was bought. A blue ford falcon, ex-police car, with a year left on the warranty, and boot space to make a mummy of three insanely happy.
The blue bullet was my new love; it was deeper than the appreciation held for the Red Rocket, and more intense than Divine Luxury, for one major reason; she was automatic. Blue Bullet did my thinking for me and for that, my life was so much easier.
But three became four, and the truth of the matter soon became apparent; a people mover was necessary. And we already had one. A big grandpa of a car called the Beast.
Oh, how I hated the beast. She is big and chunky, and has to think about whether or not she will go when you put your foot on the accelerator. She’s hard to park and makes me feel like a soccer Mom (I’m sorry but it doesn’t look write with a U.)
The Beast was my nemesis, and unfortunately, a necessary adjustment.
Because Boatman’s workplace had shifted to the motor industry, he had a car as a work perk. It meant that Blue Bullet was no longer needed, and so we bid her farewell. It also meant that he would bring home a bevy of delicious new cars for me to drive at my leisure, and soak in their new car smell.
It was like heaven in a Mitsubishi.
It almost made up for the fact that the Beast was always waiting in the driveway taunting me, begging me to drive her, demanding that she be taken on each family outing. It was bearable but only because of the knowledge that should an emergency bread run be necessary, there was a flash new car with free fuel begging to be driven.
But the romance, like most, had to end. Boatman has left the automotive group, and the multitude of beautiful cars behind him. What we are left with is the Beast…
The car my dad bought when he passed on the Red Rocket. The car he gave us when he bought a shiny new toy from Boatman. She doesn’t even have a name. She is loud and sporadic and so very random; nothing at all like me.
She makes me wish that horses and carts were a valid, everyday travel option.
Sometimes, when looking at her, it’s like seeing into the very depths of hell.
Boatman does not understand my refusal to drive her. He doesn’t understand her malice. That she is out to get me at every possible moment. That car hates me. The patrol may be a Beast, but this car. She is a B***h.
And so, as it turns out, what was a platonic but necessary relationship between the Beast and I, has blossomed into true love and a beautiful understanding.
Thankyou Beast, for being you. I promise to drive you until a better off comes along.
Linking with the gorgeous Kate Says Stuff for Thankful Thursday.
What kind of relationship do you have with your car?