Pimp My Ride

Last year, following our move to the suburbs of Dallas, TX, my father-in-law graciously donated his 1990 Honda Accord to the charity known as Us. This was extremely generous and much appreciated, considering we had sold our little motorcycle before we moved out of Albuquerque and now had one vehicle, in a place where public transportation is, for all intents and purposes, nonexistent. This car drove like a Disney fun house ride, which was amusing for a few weeks. Unfortunately, once I secured a job and was putting nearly 50 miles on the Honda every day, I quickly realized the bucket seat was murder on my back, the delayed accelerating aspect was downright dangerous, and the burgundy interior was hot and ugly. Have I mentioned no CD player and a scratchy, poor-quality speaker system? As a bonus, I work in one of the swankier neighborhoods of Dallas, where the local transport comes from exotic lands like Lexus, BMW and Porsche. Chugging along in the white Accord with the lovely rust stain accents on either side, I could hear the whispers of the cool cars as they conspired to keep me out of their playground circles. The disclaimer here of course is that a free car is a free car, and we do appreciate how “lucky” we are, blah blah blah.

I had struggled for a month to find a name for this vehicle (I always name my cars; yes, I'm That Girl), but the only name that came to mind was evoked whenever the delayed acceleration nearly killed me during attempts to merge into rush-hour Texas traffic on Suicide Run/I-635, or when I finally figured out that yes, after being hit THREE TIMES in TWO WEEKS, this car really does have it in for my ungrateful ass. Now the car is approaching its one year anniversary with us, I still haven’t sent a thank-you note to my in-laws, and I’m afraid the name Piece of Shit has stuck.

All of this backstory to be able to describe my moment of shock this morning when I walked out the door in my new pair of cords, hopped in the car, and promptly disappeared. Who knew I’d find a pair of pants that were an exact match to the interior of Piece of Shit? Does this amazingly coincidental event redeem the car, or condemn the pants?

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