My last car, a Geo Prism, was over 10 years old. I referred to it as my Flintstone-mobile, because one was tempted to open the door and use footpower to help it up hills. Only one gas station in town let it pass inspection, and the local carwash owner gently suggested that we not return after my license plate flew off during the rinse cycle. When I used to be a lawyer and had a hearing somewhere not Metro-accessible, I took perverse pride in driving it to work and parking it next to all the BMWs in the garage. After bumming rides throughout high school and college, I bought it my third year of law school. It was low-maintenance and ran well, if you weren't in a hurry. I loved that piece of crap car.
With the baby on the way, I reluctantly conceded that my Geo should be retired. It just wasn't safe. (I also suspected that the extra weight of a newborn would prove too much for it.) I donated the Geo to Purple Hearts, and we bought a Honda: safe with no personality and a big blind spot.
While it’s nice, albeit anti-climatic, to be able to merge without heart-stopping adrenaline, I still end up sweating every time I drive. The heat dial is located where my radio tuner used to be, so I inadvertently jack up the heat every time a bad song hits the airwaves. Baby C and I arrive everywhere hot and thirsty. I miss my Geo.