Soulmates

I am in love.  I have finally found the one that can make me happy just by being near me.  My new love willingly goes everywhere that I go, and very graciously leaves all of the decisions up to me. I feel spoiled.  The pace is set by me, there is never a dispute about where I want to go, or what time of day or night I decide we should get out for a bit.  I have found a real gem, so quiet and so pretty to look at.  We can overcome the age difference, I am sure of it.  I have all a woman could ask for.  My companion practically purrs when we are together.  How loved I feel.  

 

Before anyone starts asking when the wedding is, I should clarify that I have fallen in love not with a man, but with my new car. I have given up all hope of ever being in any other type of relationship, and I'm pretty sure I can get at least an eight year run out of this one.  All I have to do is remember to keep it hydrated with fuel, wash it occasionally and take it in for scheduled check ups.  Sort of like having a dog, without having to pick up any undesirable leavings.

I don't have to be dressed in any particular style; my car cares not whether my hair looks like a corn broom in the middle of a fit, and it doesn't make smart-ass remarks on the state of my mood.  I don't have to try to make small-talk or have an emergency backup plan, unlike the three recent ill-fated dates that I foolishly embarked on over the last two weeks.

On the first one, I could clearly see my little car across the parking lot while I suffered an hour of what surely was more boring than watching paint dry.  How I longed to just make a run for it and ensconce myself securely in the haven of my lime green Hyundai. I think I kissed the steering wheel when I got in, but I don't really remember.  My brain was numb by that point.

On the second, although my car was parked out of sight, I knew it was there.  I couldn't stop thinking about it.  I finally "admitted" to my far too young date that I was interested in someone else and really shouldn't waste any more of his time.  I just didn't admit that the someone else was my car.  The one that I practically sprinted to once I broke a speed record finishing a cup of coffee.

The third (and as far as I'm concerned last) failed date took place blocks away from where I parked my little pride and joy.  I started having separation anxiety as I got further and further from where I left my little gem.  Now, to be fair, date number three was very easy on the eyes.  Enough for me to temporarily forget about my little green machine.  Until I asked him what he did for a living.  Once he said he was a commercial pilot, I had no choice but to fake illness and cut my losses. I work with pilots every single day.  I could find no polite way to say I'd rather be shot in the head than date one.  So I bolted.  Right back to the parkade and into the arms of my soul mate.  

When the seats started heating up, I knew I was forgiven for my betrayal. I'll never cheat on my amour again. I've learned my lesson.  Next week we're going to the automotive store to pick out floor mats and air freshener.  Because that's what couples do.