Today I ended one of the most tumultuous relationships I’ve ever experienced. She was a real beauty to behold, a model with a new look; German, pale and sleek, in the full flush of youth, refined, confident, just a little bit flashy, and – unusually – better looking from the front than the rear. I once thought she would be mine for many years, but I can’t afford to have her around any more; although not what you might consider high maintenance, I just can’t justify keeping her at the moment – there is too much else going on.
Our relationship began in a somewhat unorthodox manner when I drowned her sister on a cold, rainy night in North Yorkshire back in September 2012; perhaps it says something dark about me when I recall that the thing that still hurts most from that evening was the loss of the finest pair of suede boots I’ve ever owned, the bloated and mouldy soles surely an allegory for something or other. The real surprise is that I got away with it, chalking another one up to Experience, and shortly afterwards hooked up with her twin, identical in every way except one: the warm feeling in my nether regions that she was never able to replicate.
Things were great for a while, and then the first hurdle in our short time together came through my neglect. She needed a certain attention that I wasn’t used to from previous relationships, and I hadn’t anticipated the impact of not pressing the right buttons. She ran away; someone saw her go and tipped me off as to her whereabouts, and I found her in a refuge. She was damaged, but I was relieved to discover I hadn’t hurt her to the same extent as her sister, as I had vowed never to make that mistake again. Experience claimed another point and after a short period away from me she returned, and we continued as if nothing had happened.
The second drama in our coexistence came, as many traumas do, while we were briefly spending some time at a holiday resort, many miles from home. The timing was ironic as I had only that day shared with an acquaintance the gory detail of the previous mishap, expressing a concern that things happen in threes; in hindsight I guess it was inevitable that the third should then arrive with such unseemly haste. Wishing to avoid any repeat of our earlier troubles, I thought I was being extra vigilant; but you cannot affect what is not in your control, and I reeled with horror when I saw her being done – from behind, no less – by a scruffy local. It would be accurate to suggest he sustained more damage from the incident than she did, and believe me when I tell you that I made him pay in full for his actions.
Since then, things have been relatively untroubled, but the simple truth is that I’ve been inside her rarely over the last couple of months. I’m no less attracted to her now than I was when I first saw her (or rather, her twin sister) across a crowded room: surrounded by a bevy of other models, she still caught my eye. But I know that now is the time to focus on getting on with my life. And, once I’m back in work and able to afford such luxuries again, I’m sure my fundamental needs will prompt me to get back out there and find another model.
When all’s said and done though, she’s just a car. No point getting sentimental about a lump of metal and leather is there, no matter how attractively assembled. Maybe when I can afford one again I’ll get one of those Asian models instead.
Footnote: for those who don’t know the stories already, my earlier article will offer some illumination.