Everyone here knows that I love my car. I wouldn't trade her for anything, even though I sometimes joke about junking her, or selling her, or the host of other things that one can do to old, rusting German iron.
But there is one time of the year I honestly wish I had a new car: the rainy season.
Voodoo's windshields leak. Her doors leak. Her quarterwindows leak. (Oddly enough, her sunroof is watertight. Figure that one out.) When it rains, I have to cover her, else I get inches of water on the floor. Her cover is fabric -- one of those breathable, yet waterproof ones that supposedly allow the metal to wick moisture away and prevent rust. And, because it's fabric and not say, plastic, it does hold water. A lot of it. The cover is of a fair weight all on its own. When it's full of water, it likely weighs 40 or 50lbs. I absolutely hate lugging that thing back and forth from the car to the house. I get wet. The carpet in the house gets wet. Kiffies are very displeased, sir.
Should my parents ever come through on their plans to buy kiffies a new car, I might have to get a sort of timeshare going on with them: I'll keep Voodoo in the summer, but when winter comes around, she's parking in their garage to wait out the rain and the hail indoors.
In other news, at least Voodoo is surefooted in the rain. I have no risk of ending up like this poor breadloaf:"Crash" (Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times / January 18, 2010)