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A Love Letter to My Subaru
It was, and still is, the nicest car I’ve ever owned.
It was already 10 years old when I bought it, but it had low mileage and only one owner, and I paid cash for it, outright. It’s the perfect “mom car”, my Subaru Forester, a glorified station wagon with AWD that, as so many of my neighbors swore, would “handle well in the snow”. I was upgrading, from the little loud tin can I’d been driving to something more “safe”. Today, I’m driving a 16 year old “safe” car, and I tell it every day how much I love it.
Oops.
I live in a town full of Subarus — there are so many, especially from the early 2000s, that I once came out of the natural foods store, tossed my purse into the open passenger seat window (yeah, used to be that safe around here too), and then went to put my daughter in her car seat. Her car door wouldn’t open, and um… where the hell is your car seat?
Oh my god. This isn’t my Subaru. It’s someone else’s.
Mine was the one next to it, and so with a little bit of trepidation I reached through the open window of someone else’s 2000-era silver Subaru Forester S, and I pulled my purse back out.
What ARE you doing? I heard someone say. I was burning hot and embarrassed as I stood there holding my big saggy mombag, and I explained to her exactly what happened. As we stood…
