We used to call my car Lufthansa. That was back when it was James’ car and it hadn’t driven tens of thousands of miles carrying tens of thousands of house hunters. It had the luxury car acceleration. And silence. And smell. Then we traded in my previous vehicle, the Crop Duster, and I inherited Lufthansa. That’s when her dashboard started to crack, myriad warning lights began flashing, and the battery became randomly unreliable. Or reliably dead at 5AM as I’m leaving for the airport. Twice.
Then there was that one incident where the rodents moved in and ate through the insulation protecting the cab from an engine fire. Plus the window washer line. And James read me the report from the mechanic mentioning something about five corpses. “Plugging my ears… La la la la la… I can’t hear you.”
Oh, and did I forget to mention the ants? For awhile the boys would groan and moan about having to ride in the Rat Mobile. I tried to explain that they hadn’t made it into the cab of the car but whatevs… no half-eaten single serving trail mix bags and library books mucking-up my backseat? Fine by me.
The most maddening thing is that all of the hydraulics have since given up the ghost. I use a piece of PVC pipe to hold open the hood every night. It seems field mice and mountain rats prefer roofs on their engine McMansions.
That reminds me of a story Granddad told me, courtesy of my little three-year-old nephew McMuffin, Bry Bry. Seems he was practicing his archery at Granddad’s house but couldn’t seem to hit the target with his arrow. After multiple attempts, he turns to his archery coach and declares, “Let’s make the grass the target.” And he’s instantly transformed into a gold medalist. Brilliant.
Meanwhile, back at the Rat Mobile… I’m hitting the button to open the back tailgate and the thing opens up to about chest height and then shuts itself. I push the button again. It opens and then closes. I press the button over and over in exasperation as my groceries begin to melt in the parking lot.
Jake declares from his car seat, “Six times– new high score, Mom!”