My first car, a 97 VW Golf. This picture, however, was taken in 2003 right before we traded it in for Murray (a Mini of some renown).
As the title says, this car didn't have a name. Not sure why, really; it wasn't on purpose. It just never seemed to have one. It did shuttle me back and forth to school for four long years, through every type of weather imaginable, and performed admirably in situations where I did something stupid. Like drive myself home with a 103 fever, or convince myself that if I didn't blink all the way home, I wouldn't fall asleep. Or when I took the corner leaving our street too quickly and spun all the way around on the ice. The woman two doors down looked at me pretty strangely when I drove by in different directions within the space of 30 seconds, I tell ya.
It was a good car, with a variety of growing problems. By the time we decided to get something new it was pretty clear we had to either move on trading it in soon, or drive it until it fell apart (which I suspect it was getting ready to do in the next couple of years - arbitrary things like the muffler were falling off out of the blue).
It was still in good enough shape that the Mini dealership gave us more than their initial estimate for it, which is probably pretty unusual for car dealerships, I think. I was sad to see it go, but driving Murray home washed a lot of that away. It's a shame the car and situation that replaced Murray didn't go the same way. Maybe next time.
(Also, that's the same bag I carry now. And I still love those shoes, but they're more hole than shoe now. Sigh.)
(Also also, yes, there was no Sunday post for Sunday. So we've officially missed one for the year. I'll keep track.)
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