Last week I wrote about the trials of trying to keep a vehicle clean when you live in the country.  When my cousin saw the piece, she wondered just what our cars would say to us if they could talk back. Well, you know how sometimes an idea will get stuck in your head? That’s what happened to me, so this is my attempt to get that question out of my head. Sorry if it gets stuck in yours, but that’s between you and your imagination.

The old ranch rig: “So you thought I could turn on a dime like your roping horse. Tell me just how do you plan to get us both right side up again? And what about this mashed in door? I suppose you’ll just start getting in and out on the passenger side now. By the way, the cow you were trying to turn just went out the gate.”

The good pickup: “Clean your boots before you get in here. And put a blanket on the seat if the dog is going to come along. It’s bad enough that you hardly ever clean the mud off, no use letting the inside go to rack and ruin too. You may not have any pride, but I do. Wipe down that dash while you’re at it.”

The town car: “Thanks for washing me. Sometimes I’m embarrassed when you park me alongside those shiny cars at the grocery store. Last week when you handed the keys over to the parking attendant outside that fancy restaurant, I could see the sneer on his face. We drove through that open range section on the way to town and there was cow poop on my tires.”

The car pool rig: “For the love of Pete, what is that stuff under my back seat? It smells like PB&J. Oh, no wonder, Jimmy upended his lunch bucket. Did you know there’s a wad of used gum under my dash? And three mismatched mittens on the floor in the third seat? Tell Suzy’s mom that pink sweater in the back belongs at their house.”

The teen school car: “You’re kidding, right? This upstart just got his permit last week, and you’re gonna let him drive? He hasn’t remembered to bring his homework to school for the last three days—and you expect him to notice a stop sign? Well, it’s your call but, mark my words, he’ll never hear the cop’s siren if you don’t put a governor on the volume control of the radio.”

The four-wheeler: There’s a reason for the warning that people should be sixteen before they drive me. You passed that mark thirty years ago but I guess your brains haven’t come in yet, because you whiz around these blowouts like Evil Kenevil. Your trusty old horse always tried not to step on you when you had a wreck, but you must not realize that horse has more common sense than you and I put together.”

All of the above, from time to time: “Whatever made you think I could jump that snowdrift? And you forgot to put in the scoop shovel, Einstein. The least you can do when you get someone talked into pulling us out is to make sure they hook that tow chain on the frame and not the bumper.”

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