Dear Jetta,
You died last week, in the midst of us moving, right smack in the middle of our busy summer season. Despite the fact we'd changed a flat tire the week before, had your tank filled to the very top with diesel and had just replaced your valve. You ignored the fact that (after that nasty hit and run) we'd just driven two extra hours to pick up a bumper which we (Jono) replaced with his bare hands, the sweat of his brow.
All these gestures of love, of pursuit, meant nothing to you.
With no apparent thought to our feelings or needs, you just let yourself go, decided we could live without you and shuddered your last. You left us, before we could leave you first.
Jetta being towed all around Brantford. What else is new?
Since the beginning, you've been a tease. We gave you all the love we could, but it was never enough. We've spent the last few years, four to be exact, at your exacting beck and call. You've always been high maintenance, a diva of the highest proportions.
Yet, you shocked us once more with your poor choices and bad timing. We thought you were beyond this, that since we've replaced every single major piece of you, you'd give us your all for just two years more.
Just two years, Jetta, while we saved up for your replacement.
It seems you didn't like the pressure. Or maybe it was the thought that some other car could take your place.
You wouldn't stand for it.
You've ever been an attention whore.
But let us remind you, we've spent thousands on your treatments, your needs, your whims. We coddled you and had more dates with you and your mechanic than we've had with each other. We bought you a block heater for those long winter nights, new brakes at every turn. We bought you oil changes like they were trendy and winter tires so you would always be in style.
Again and again and
again
we looked out for your needs before our own.
But you wanted more, more, more. So you forced our hands, took one last stand to show us who was boss in this relationship. We get it, loud and clear. You wear the pants, not us.
But we're done. We're walking away, running in fact. We are done with your belligerence, your changing mind, your flakiness.
We're racing to Kia, a new beginning, a fresh start. Someone newer and younger, with fewer demands. We didn't want it to be this way; we've been faithful when you have not. Let us be clear-this was you, not us. You sent us straight from your arms to Kia's.
And that will be that.
We're not bitter; oh no, we you've left us with no energy for that.
Kia, Brantford
We'll remember you always, with sighs and groans and many tears. We've had some sweet memories but the sugar is mixed with the bitter, for you have been The Very Worst we've ever had.
Hear that? The Worst.
But don't think you've held us back forever. You don't have that kind of power over us, not anymore. The scars will heal and we'll smile before the summer is out, know that. We'll laugh, sing and dance sooner than you can scheme again.
Goodbye, goodbye forever and good riddance too.
For we have places to go without you.
xo.
