R.I.P.

[tikistitch]

A lamentation for my husband's beloved 1988 Honda Accord. It now lies, dead dead dead, in our parking space. (In the middle of our parking space. Which means I have to squeeze my Civic, our one working car, I might add, onto a teensy weensy strip of pavement to the side. Thank the gods I don't drive one of those whack job SUVs he wanted me to buy!!) Anyway anyway, R.I.P. Honda Accord, you ferried us along on many merry road trips, you cradled many outrageously big cardboard boxes we transported to our old storage spaces in your capacious trunk, you braved many drippy Seattle winters, always outside, with never a complaint, other than the whuck whuck whuck of your axles that badly needed new sleeves. Oh, and that icky burning smell you made whenever we took you over 45 m.p.h. I hope you enjoy Car Heaven, where you merrily ride along, squooshing evil squirrels (the ones left over who didn't go to Terrier Heaven).

Stitch!



These babies be from Sega Japan, of course. They were meant to be prizes in a UFO catcher machine (a.k.a., "The Claw"), which means I'm fortunate you can buy 'em on eBay, since I can never get the hang of the machines. Nor can I play DDR. I know, I suck.

Comments

[avalonjones.livejournal.com]

It's a sad day indeed when a Honda gives up the ghost. (respectful moment of silence)