Getting there

Getting there

Monday, May 16, 2011

The Return of My (p)Ride

As regular readers of this blog know my beloved (p)ride had a little incident about six weeks ago. I had left her in the parking lot of the local shopping mall and gone in to pick up hairspray for my upcoming trip to Vancouver (I've noticed sympathy from men about this incident tends to drop a bit when I mention why I was at the mall, but I'm not sure why that matters!). To my horror when I exited the mall I discovered a pickup truck attached to the front bumper of my car. The resulting damage looked like this:

I'll be honest - I was horribly upset about it. There was my poor car minding her own business when she was viciously attacked by a pick-up truck. I realize I was a bit dramatic about it, but that's perhaps when I realized just how attached I was to this car. I took this injury personally.

As there is no BMW repair shop in my city we had to arrange for my baby to be taken to a larger city. She couldn't be driven as she was leaving plastic bits of herself all over the ground when driven. This is her on the flatbed on her way for repair:

I'm not ashamed to admit that I told the flatbed truck driver that this was my baby and that he needed to take good care of her. I'm only mildly embarrassed that I also called the body shop and told them the same thing. I just figured they should know that this car was pretty much family and that she needed some TLC. I didn't expect them to cuddle her in blankets at night or sing to her (well, not that I would mind if they did that, but I know it's absurd to expect).

I'm pleased to report that she returned home about three weeks ago, and the body shop did an excellent job with the repair. Since her return home she and I have been engaged in a little love-fest, as spring has truly arrived and there is nothing like having the sun roof open, windows down, and music blasting. Last week I narrowly escaped a speeding ticket, though, as I was merrily clipping along doing about 75 k in a 60 zone when a motorcycle whipped by me. I realized that if he was going that fast I must be speeding as well, and I slowed down - just as yellow-vested police officer stepped out and flagged us down. The motorcycle pulled over, and, just as I was changing lanes to pull over as well(feeling horribly chastened as my pristine driving record was about to be besmirched), the officer waved me to drive on. So, we are now engaging in our little love affair at lower speeds, but it is still burning brightly.

So, I am thrilled to have my (p)ride back. I must admit that in parking lots I now park even further away from other vehicles than I used to (and even then I parked far, far away). I also tend to give pick-up trucks that get too close to me dark and ugly looks as obviously they can't be trusted around my baby. I've pretty much gotten over the parking lot incident, though, and I know that she is just a car. I also know that she really belongs to my husband, as his name is on the registration, and he gets a bit huffy when I refer to her as mine. Just as with the family dog, though, the person who spends the most time with them becomes their primary caregiver, and dear friends, my (p)ride may not be mine in name but that doesn't diminish my affection for her one bit. My (p)ride is home and safe and whole, and the world is right again. I know some day she may be damaged again, and perhaps even some day beyond repair - but until then I will enjoy our time together, and hope that day is a long, long way from today.

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