Max and Me

I know Max is really jealous. He knew, the moment I pulled into the Ford/Mazda Fury parking lot, that I was going to cheat on him. I tried to hide the glee of my test drive of the fabulous Mazda 3, but he’s a very intuitive Corsa, he is.

Thus on Wednesday he got me back. I had to pick my parents up from the airport that afternoon, so I borrowed by Dad’s Condor to have enough space to fit the heaps of luggage in (and, my Dad’s a tad too large for a small Corsa seat). I dropped them off at their house, stayed for dinner, and as I tried to start Max, he spluttered and died. I tried and tried and tried again to start his little engine, to no avail. The motor wasn’t turning or the alternator was broken (that’s what my Mom said, I don’t know what it means), so I quietly apologised to Max for my unfaithfulness, knowing he was just being sulky, kissed his steering wheel affectionately, and got out.

But that wasn’t enough for you, Max, was it? You had to go and slit your tyre to get some attention too, didn’t you? The last trickles of air were bleeding out of his right rear tyre, so I worked fast and desperately to replace it with the spare. But he knew I’d rush to save him, so he foiled me there, too. One of his bolts was so worn down that the spannery-thingy wouldn’t grip it, and the wheel couldn’t be removed.

I ended up spending the night at my parents, borrowed the Condor again yesterday, and my uncle kindly went through to see what was the matter (my Dad’s not that kind of man – he’s more the opera, flowers, cooking type, you see).

Max again made two moves to spite me:

1 – the spare tyre actually had a slow puncture too, so that had to be repaired
2 – he pretended that the only thing wrong with him was that the petrol had run out (he’s done that twice before, all in the space of a year. He’s not being very creative, is he?)

Damn bastard! Still, I love him to bits. All the fond memories: steamy Titanic moments, heart-stopping instants where Max and I made physical contact with other vehicles/poles/road barriers, cutting off taxi’s, near-death experiences while being transported on a train from CT to JHB that derailed, and that scary road rage incident last weekend… dear Max, even if a new car enters my life, he can never replace the special moments we shared. We lived the best years of our lives together, and no sexy power steering / aircon / leather seat / cd player / five door-wielding vehicle can compensate. Promise.