You were not my first car—actually you were my third—but you and me, babe, we go way back. We go back to when Dad decided to buy you while Mom was out of town. (Looking back that might not have been one of his smartest moves.) We go back to the long family road trips and the endless “Dadddd, he’s on my side,” and countless games of I SPY. We go back to when I was first learning to drive and might have really loved your brakes… a lot.
When you stopped becoming “our” car and became mine, you received your name, Ruby, and we became a whole new team. You were no longer the car I learned to drive in or that picked me up from school, but the car that drove me to class, to parties, and back and forth to and from San Antonio. You were the zip to my do-da.
When a boy from Louisiana entered the picture, you pulled up your big girl transmission and said, “Let’s do this thing, I promise I’ll get you through long-distance dating,” and you did—like a champ. Your speakers pumped everything from N*Sync to Journey to Eli Young—always ignoring my off key singing. You kept me safe from crazy drivers (I’m looking at you, uninsured driver on 610). Thanks for listening to my silent prayers, frustrated tears and for being a trusted companion. Thanks for being the best “first” car a girl could ask for.
The girl putting on eyeliner ONLY at stop lights.
and on another note, I would like to welcome Stella to the family!