Bye-bye, baby

Dear Max, I know I’ve mourned over the thought of losing you before but I have to grieve again, this time because it’s real.

Even though you suspected it (you’re a sharp Corsa, I know) – I could hear you hissing and spluttering every time we entered a Mini dealership parking lot – you still put on a brave face, and were faithful to the very last minute.

You have even mysteriously been consuming petrol at a far lesser rate lately – was it to convince me you were the most efficient car on the planet, or were you so devastated at my betrayal that you lost your appetite, dear love?

No matter what happens, I want you to remember that you are the longest relationship I’ve ever had, and for the most part, the memories have been fond, even though they might have left some scars on you (and again, I’m truly truly sorry):

Do you remember adventurously mounting curbs to park on, on Friday nights back when the gay Heartland clubs were pumping? Your exhaust once took that serious beating and you ended up going to a very expensive doctor to replace it.

What about the time you went straight over the island on Jan Smuts avenue in midday traffic, very narrowly missing that swanky Merc?

Or the crater left in your passenger door when I let that nasty boy drive you home from Melville?

Or the time that dickhead tow truck driver aquaplaned from the M1 offramp into your bumper?

And, the time you dutifully stopped at a red light, when some twit in a 4x4 slammed into the back of you, and you caused more damage to his bull bars than he did to your bum? (My brave hero, you!)

All these times, you kept me safe – no bone was bruised, no skin cell so much as scraped during any of these sometimes hair-raising moments – and you kept on loyally going, continuing the journey until I arrived home unharmed.

We have traveled 138,000 very happy kilometres together, and seen some lovely places: meandering through scenic routes in Mpumalanga and KwaZulu-Natal, enjoying the views and sunsets in Cape Town, and parking outside the Oppenheimer mansion’s entrance until the guard chased us away.

And we enjoyed singing together, didn’t we? You hummed and purred as I howled along to songs like No Doubt’s “Don’t Speak”, Groove Armada’s “Superstylin’ ”, Beethoven’s Ninth, and your all-time favourite, Third Eye Blind’s “Semi-Charmed Life”.

You also liked talking (well let’s be honest – it was more like yelling) to other cars, honking your glorious horn at them for their stupid driving mistakes, especially the taxi’s and Beemers of the road.

Whoever your new partner will be, I’m sure he/she will treat you well, in all likelihood better than I did. You’re getting older now, the energetic behaviour of your youth is no longer a great idea, Max. Your wild streak must be tamed a little, at least in the beginning so you don’t frighten your poor new travelling partner.

And always remember, reverse is our favourite gear.

xXx

To thousands of smooth, traffic-free, puncture-free, scenic drives ahead, my dearest Maxibon.