Talkin’ ’bout my girl, my girl

I’ve always known that I was unnaturally attached to inanimate objects. I named my old phone. My computer goes by Max. And I gave my car a real person name.

This is Amelia, my dear, the love of my life, my sugar pie and honey bunch.

Actually, this is not Amelia, per se, just the internet’s idea of her. But you get the gist.
We’ve had a great many adventures together. Like trying to find a parking space at a crowded City Market.
We saw a dog one time.
I cheered her on when it snowed
and she scolded me for taking pictures while she was busy careening down the highway. Chill out, Amelia.
She’s my sunshine
on a cloudy day.
I even talked her into posing with me once so I could add a picture of myself to eHarmony.
(if any potential suitors find this picture, please know that I have since had several haircuts and the shirt is probably making a Goodwill shopper very happy. Things have improved is what I’m trying to say.)
But now, my sweet, sweet girl looks like this:
A car ran into my innocently (and legally) parked baby!
I was asleep when it happened and am thankful for a roommate who heard it and woke me up.
Long story short, it took a few days for the insurance company to assess the damage and have Amelia towed. Even though I was anxious for her to get to the shop for repairs, I didn’t realize how much room I had for her in my heart until I got home and she was gone.
These are real and true thoughts that have gone through my head since then:
Is she okay?
Does she understand what’s going on?

Is she worried that I’m not there? Does she think I’ve abandoned her?

Is she cold? Does she need a blanket?

I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you, Amelia!
Then I had to drop off an authorization form at the body shop after hours. I caught a glimpse of her through the fence.
Mama’s here, Amelia! 

I love you! 

They’ll take good care of you here and we’ll be together again before you know it.


It’s like I told my roommate last night. My house and my car are the two places where I’m completely myself. In my car, no one is paying attention to me. I sing along to the music – loudly and off-key. Amelia never complains. I grumble after a long day and mutter curse words under my breath when other drivers are idiots I realize I’m the only sane person on the road. When I accidentally slam the door too hard or run over the curb, I stroke her dash and whisper sweet nothings of apology. Amelia is always up for any adventure I decide to undertake, whether it’s finding a new route home or exploring the city I grew up in. She’s my girl, my girl, my girl.
And I miss her.
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