Dreaming of Leg Room

My little car is so sad.

I have a '97, (or is it '98?), Ford Aspire. I call him Bob. It's a pattern in my life. Anything that annoys me, I call Bob.

Okay, so sometimes I call things that annoy me other names, but none of them are very nice, or child friendly.

Anyway, poor Bob hasn't been washed since I got him. I refuse to wash the car, partly because I'm stubborn, and partly because when I have the money to wash him, I'd much rather be spending that money on something else.

Also, I had some of that Febreeze for cars, and got some on the inside of the windshield, and so now, the big window is dirty. Everything viewed through it is slightly blurry.

Another problem that plagues poor Bob is that he's filthy inside, too. Not so much dirty kind of nastiness. It's more of a "million empty soda cans" kind of nastiness. I let the cans build up because I'm lazy, for one, and I'd rather use my freetime to work on things like this blog, and my upcoming webcomic than to dredge through the aluminum jungle.

My wife hates to ride in Bob, for all the reasons I've mentioned above.

...and I honestly can understand that. I can.

Her car is immaculate compared to Bob. Heck, most cars not owned by wierd, scuzzy people are clean compared to Bob.

The real problem is that I don't like Bob. I have no pride in him. He has a tiny engine, and very little leg room. I need leg room. I crave a big engine.

I think my last car spoiled me.

My last car was a boat of a car. A 1978 Chrysler Newport Custom with a nice big engine that was so loud it would scare cats up trees when I blew by. It was ugly. It was white and rusty, had a dark pea green top and interior.

I loved that car. I could sit comfortably in it, and I'm a big guy. I'm not grotesquely fat or anything, I'm just big. I've recieved several offers for jobs as a bouncer, if that helps you visualize me any better.

...and then, I ended up with Bob, because the Newport finally died, and I couldn't afford to fix it.

I'm like a widower who remarries, and no matter how much he knows the new wife loves him dearly, and treats him well, she'll just never be the love he lost.

Maybe I will wash Bob. He deserves it for putting up with me.

At least while driving him I've never called out my old car's name.