This Subaru, although not mine, does remind me of what I look like driving down the road.  Okay, I’m not this bad, I don’t have a half a tree chained to my car masked as a bumper.  But I do refer to my Subaru Outback as “The Hearse”.  It feels like a death trap and it looks like it should be delivering a casket to a cemetery.  I’ve never been a fan of the grocery-getter style.  I’m young and without children so I really don’t want to be toting a couple hundred pounds of vehicle behind the front seat.  Isn’t that reserved for soccer moms and Costco enthusiasts?
So what is it about the Hearse I don’t like?
My image.
It make me feel too old and used; like I need to whip out a boob and suckle a baby and then run some cupcakes up to the elementary school for Mommy Day-where I’ll probably take heat from other mothers who baked their own goodies from scratch.  (I’ve heard the working mothers VS stay-at-home mothers is a vicious debate.  It’s one I don’t want to be involved in yet!)
My sucky Subaru is categorizing me into stereotypes I don’t belong in!
You may be wondering; “why the hell did you buy it then?”
The answer is: I didn’t.
I am a complainer and a very ungrateful piece of shit.
The car was very sweetly given to me; I gave a jolly smile and took the keys but secretly I was dreading the drive.
The car shudders uncontrollably at speeds over 55, the enormous station wagon part in the back shakes incessantly when coming to a stop, the car vibrates like a vibrator (seriously, Samantha from Sex in the City would love it), until yesterday, when making any left turn there would be a grumbling, grinding, disgruntled fart noise from from wheel well; we found out that the mud flap was loose and rubbing against the wheel so we took it off and now there are only 3 mud flaps on the car.  The antenna somehow came out of the antenna hole but it isn’t entirely ripped off so it’s tucked into the ski-rack on top of the car to keep from blowing wildly in the wind, and then there’s the smell.  There is a leak of some oozing black liquid that oddly enough is not oil.  I like to think of it as the blood and guts of the Subaru.  When the car gets hot it smells like we’re roasting tires and plastic bottles over a campfire.  It’s lovely.  Oh, and also the tires in the front leak so when they get low the car barely turns and I get to go fill them up every 2 weeks or so.  What a life!
I need to somehow not associate my car with who I am but that’s really hard to do when I get out of it and have to kick the side panel back on.  The reason I keep it is b/c I have no payments and it is a great way to save money; otherwise I wouldn’t be going to France.
Do you drive a beater car?  How do you cope?