 The First Blemish...
It's Heartbreak Hotel. And two free nights at Disappointment Cafe. I need three or four Sad Tequilas. The first scar happened yesterday and it ripped my soul to its foundation, fabric, firmament. It shook and angered and made me terribly sad. Imagine this: our family has not had a new car for 3 generations- I exaggerate not! My grandads had Hillman Minxes and even a Ford V8, my folks got by with a Renault, Ambassador, a Fiat, the previously mentioned Buick, 2 Standard 10s sequentially and suchlike..all wheels that did the job of ferrying the fly to the odd A to B. BUT none were brand new. Not a single car in 3 generations. My parents who sacrificed much to get us rolling did not see a set of new wheels EVER in their career, so this Fabia WAS, IS a heluva big deal. It's not big or anywhere near luxe-barge ostentatious or fast or slick or super expensive. Kids drive swankier cars. BUT it is a new car and that's what mattered to me. It rolled right out of a showroom, came with all the accoutrements of a service de-brief, new papers, new smell new, new new. But a plebeian gate that made for awkward manoeuvering to get her into the porch did it: a long, angry gash high up on the front passenger side door.
I know it can be fixed but she's no virgin anymore...not pure nor blemish-free. And I'm pissed that it happened just a week into owning her. What's to be done? This mere gadget, this bundle of rust-bait, this collection of ephemeral consummables...this transient transit device was important. While I know in my heart of hearts its fancy will fade with time, it was aimed at serving a higher purpose. $&^!*# |