The End of a Love Affair...

I fell in love for the first time in 1989 but the relationship was fleeting and not fully my own. It belonged to my high school boyfriend's mother. A 1987 Subaru Loyale. While my first time left some lifelong scars, (a collision between car and garage door; thankfully my high school boyfriend did not rat me out to his mother until we broke up nearly six years later), I became a life long Subaru lover. Three years later, I spent a winter in Lake Louise covetting all the Subarus of the year round residents. After the break up, when I would see my former boyfriend driving around in the Loyale, I am not exactly sure which one my heart was aching for.

My love was not to be reciprocated until 2008 but it was worth the wait. A 2006 Subaru Outback with barely any kilometres in my favourite colour. A dream come true! (Seriously, when asked the lotto question, that would be my response). After owning seven other cars, I was so completely enamoured with my car I would drive just to drive.

I was so excited, I actually posted pictures on Facebook... and was completely puzzled when people questioned my sexuality. Seriously. They did. I had no idea that lesbians had an official car. I called down to San Diego to confirm this with my lesbian aunts. They had no idea. Frankly, I did not care; I was in love. Hilariously, I received a call from San Diego less than a week later letting me know that Martina Navratilova was pitching Outbacks on the lesbian network... at least she has good taste and recognizes superior automotive craftsmanship.

For four years, my Outback and I have been inseparable. We have survived two separate encounters with drunken teenagers, hauled around kids and dogs and sports equipment, spent nearly a year together being hobos with money, enjoyed numerous camping and road trips and spent hours upon hours commuting in car lover bliss. We have racked up nearly 165 000 km together and never once has it let me down... even when I neglected it more than I should.

How ironic that it would be a man who would come between us. How ironic that my beloved Outback would not accommodate the body of the guy I married. How ironic that the guy I married would accept everything about me but my car. Tomorrow, I bid a dieu to my beloved Subaru in exchange for a vehicle that will accommodate both my humunkuous (Big Bang Theory reference here) self and my Gigantor spouse as well as kids and dogs and stuff.

My heart is broken. When I was six and my brother four, my parents traded in their BMW and I remember watching my mother try to console my sobbing brother at the dealership; his grief was almost overwhelming to watch. Until today, I did not fully appreciate how one person could be so attached to a car. I get that it is just a thing without any feelings and that I am being rather silly but it seems only fitting to write this eulogy and shed a tear or two.