The long goodbye

I used to have the most beautiful classic car. A gorgeous red scirocco, with a black body kit, really sexy. It was a year older than me. And, when it started (which was nine times out of ten), it drove like a dream, sooooo much fun. It roared like a tiger and purred like a kitten, and I took the greatest of pleasures in thrashing teenage boy racers at the lights, the acceleration was mint!

A few months ago, HID told me it was time to say goodbye, let go, and get a more reliable, boring car. So I gave in, and he chose me another car. The night he went to pick it up, I couldn't bear to be at home. So just as well I had a night out planned! All the girls were staying with a friend for her birthday,who had a more exciting local city than us, and I had offered to give everyone a lift in my scirocco, its last road trip.

We had a fantastic night, and me being a teetotaler (and unknowingly pregnant at the time) I wasn't drinking, and we had parked in the centre to drive back to our friend's place. Now, it had been feeling a little ropey on the drive in, not the usual stuff either, so I had text HID to ask his advice. He had told me to know exactly where we were at all times. So when the car started, and we drove out of the car park into the road only to have the clutch completely go on us, I wasn't all that surprised.

A tow truck was called, they had told me there was no chance of fixing the problem, and four freezing girls awaited rescue. It's as if she knew she was being replaced, and wanted a last bit of attention! The tow truck arrived, and I knew I had to go all the way home, against our plans, as my friend did not want a clapped out banger on her driveway until we could move it. But my friend still needed to lift home, and the rest of us needed our overnight bags! We batted our eyes and abused our cleavages to get our way.

And for their trouble, gave them an £8 tip (a taxi would have cost more) and half of the birthday cake. They were happy boys. And all that talent to look at in the rear view mirror! Thus, unable to be sold due to her injuries (costing more than her value to fix), my poor broken baby sat on the driveway for months.

A few weeks ago, a man knocked on our door offering us £20 to scrap hr, it really annoyed me, I wanted someone to love her! Eventually, HID convinced me that the reason she was so hard to fix was because sciroccos never go to scrap yards. If I were to donate mine, I would make so many scirocco owners happy, and my car would live on in theirs. A great idea! So he arranged the date, and asked me to clear out my stuff.

Which I forgot to do. And when he came, I was still in my pajamas. I scrambled outside to do it there and then. The man started it, it purred like a kitten. He held the door open for me, while I began to collect my junk. I opened the glove compartment, and inside was my black strapless bra. A dilemma. On one hand, I am delighted, I thought I'd lost this after taking it off on that night out and putting it in my handbag, as it was soooo uncomfortable. On the other hand, there is no way of me removing it without your man from the scrapyard getting an eyeful.

I bite the bullet, I'm still in my pajamas, it can't be that much worse right? I carry on emptying my car, enjoying sitting at the wheel with the engine purring one last time. As I stand to leave the car, and straighten up, your an winks and says:

"It's amazing what you keep in your car, isn't it love?"

I mumble my agreement and hurry inside, to watch her final departure.

Grown.