At least the Tracker has never called me fat or played mind games or worn socks with sandals, unlike some boys I could mention

I'm starting to think that cars are like heroines in romance novels: there's only one person who is truly destined to love them.

I say this for two reasons. One, I had to drive a friend's car home from a party tonight, and it was just a weird experience. While her car is cute and fun to drive, I felt very uncomfortable the entire time, like the car was disgruntled that its rightful driver was missing. It defied me by refusing to unlock the doors on the first try and by moving the seat adjustment lever at least three times. It was making me nervous on purpose, I just know it.

The other reason I think cars only have one true driver is because I've watched—on the rare, rare occasions when I've been able to give up control for more than two seconds in a row—people try to drive my car, and it's the same thing. Not only does it make my car upset (I swear it sometimes cries little washer-fluid tears), it makes me feel betrayed. My car is driving around with other people! Other people that don't know it like I do, that don't know how to lock the passenger door in the way that it like and don't know how to make the car purr when it accelerates. Come back to me, my little auto!

Yeah, I just reread that last paragraph, and I think I need to start walking more places, maybe get a bike. I'm too young to make this sort of commitment.