Last weekend at the massive dinner provided by Brother Mike (imagine all 5 sister/brothers except one, with all their spouses and one niece, and both parents acting civil to each other!) we’re all mingling and catching up (the family is scattered across two continents and three different time zones so these dinners are a bit concentrated with face-time) when I return to Sharkboy’s side with a refill of wine.
His face is pallid. He’s been talking to Mom.
“I didn’t say anything or do anything or suggest anything…” he sputters, hands up in the universal defensive Don’t Hit Me signal.
“You need a car!” Mom says, directed to me.
I look at Sharkboy with the universal What The Hell Have You Done? facial signal. I get the universal Nothing! shrug.
“You can borrow my car for the summer!” Mom continues.
“Guk!” I respond. Sharkboy repeats the universal symbol for Don’t Hit Me and I Know Nothing! over and over again.
See, we were putting serious pressure on Da to buy his ’92 Bonneville which is still running fine ( the old girl sat 5 years in a heated garage unused, looked after by a professional mechanic at one of his butlering gigs) and Da was being stubborn. “Never sell a car to a relative,” he would repeat, like a mantra. I get the feeling there’s a story in there somewhere, especially when his father was a pack rat of all things combustible engine-y. Grandfather had 14 lawnmowers in his 4 car garage when he passed. Plus he had a wicked cool moose head but I digress.
So I’m listening to Mom’s reasons as to why we should take her car for the summer (“The insurance is paid up until October!”) and Father-implanted alarms are going off. But it’s attractive. It’s there and Mom is offering.
We say yes. But we offer rules and regulations. As I type this I am sure Mom is waiting on the rules and regs from her insurance provider.
Last night, after a massive gas attack (I make a mean guacamole – I mean MEAN!), I’m lying awake in that zone not quite sleep, not quite awake and I realize that Da might be upset that we’re not asking to borrow the car from him again. I wonder if I’ve upset him by saying yes to Mom and making him worry he won’t feel needed or some bizarre parental concept.
Then I think that he’s probably glad to be rid of our constant begging.
So on Easter weekend, Sharkboy and I might be picking up an environmentally destructive 2001 Honda Civic.
Sharkboy is making the universal God I Love Your Dowry hand signal.
8 thoughts on “The Love Bug”
The Bonneville had a 3.8L V6 in 1992. Thirsty she will be.
And all that room in the tank for gas.
Bonnie HOLDS MORE CAMPING GEAR…
Civic gets better mileage…and 1 out of 3 cars in the GTA is a civic of some sort and on the top stolen lists…
hmmm…drive what everyone drives with NO ROOM and it might get stolen…or drive what probably amounts to 1 of 10 92 Bonnie’s in Toronto and all that room for CAMPING GEAR!
as Carolyn on the apprentice always says to Donald at the end of the show…Its a no brainer..
(and I agree about leather seats…they are the best, no matter what car they are in!)
Momma’s been sweet to the poor Civic, except a big scraping to the body by frottaging a pole in the underground garage. Da has just had the Bonnie in for servicing. However I think the Bonnie is much more enviromentally challenged due to it’s twin exhausts and 6 cylendars.
It does have the nicest car seats I have ever sat in though. Leeeeaaaahhhhhter. mmm.
civic = 4 cylinders
bonneville = 6-8
even on a bad day the civic would be somewhat better unless DR’s mother has kicked the s#!t out of it.
lol @ furface… but, what if the Civic has engine trouble (an extremely unlikely thing for a 5 year-old Honda) and burns oil… and the Bonnie just passed her emissions test?
You are going to enviromentalist hell, where they throw compost at you…
But at least you have luv…dirty, smoggy, brown luuuvvvvvv.
Sweety darling, to call a 2001 Civic environmentally destructive and not mention a 1991 Bonneville and its emissions… you obviously failed auto shop.