At 127,000 miles, my trusty Volvo is finally broken in. And there are no ‘new car rules’
My name is Michelle and my Volvo S80 has 127,000 miles on its odometer. My dream is to drive it another million miles before leaping the Grand Canyon “Evel Knievel-style” with my husband, Mark, strapped to its roof.
Mark and I see eye-to-eye on many things. But high mileage isn’t one of them.
“You need a new car,” he keeps telling me.
“But I love my car!”
“And you’ll love a new car,” he says.
No, I won’t. I won’t love a new car anymore than I’d love a new husband. It’s taken me years to break both of them in. Call me sentimental. But I get attached.
I have owned several Volvos over the last quarter century. The first was purchased when I was pregnant with our son. Because Mark couldn’t control my bad driving, he put me behind the wheel of a tank.
It was the first of many to come.
Each new Volvo came with New Car Rules: No squeezing into tight parking spots. No eating in the car. And no chauffeuring animals without first covering the seat.
No such rules are attached to my current car. I like the freedom that comes with my 127,000 miler – and I don’t plan on giving it up easily.
There’s a spot on the driver’s seat worn to the exact size of my bottom. My Chihuahua, Lola, can ride shotgun without sitting on a towel. And I can eat Taco Bell while cruising down the highway.
That said, my car isn’t perfect. Its warning lights flash like a Christmas tree. And there are the cosmetic issues. At first each parking lot “ding” was like a knife to my heart. These days, I hardly notice them.
But my husband does.
“We’re going car shopping,” he said yesterday, for what seemed like the hundredth time.
“Ok. But can we take a little trip first?”
I’ve never been to the Grand Canyon and I hear it’s beautiful this time of year.
