Boy Toy and Tiggy

Boy Toy was declared a total loss. The shame of it is that, at 145,000 miles, he was looking like a 300,000+ mile performer. The father and who brought him home never loved him, but he was a devoted work horse worthy of the fleet manager observation that it is the unloved vehicles who seem to last the longest. The fleet manager who shared this observation with me mused, "It's like they know nobody's gonna be sentimental enough to put 'em out to pasture, so they're working to avoid the slaughter house." Whatever the evers of those whats, I never loved Boy Toy, either. I drove him off for my year long funeral pilgrimage simply because he was the least popular vehicle in the driveway. Nobody was gonna fight me for him. Still, we developed a healthy respect for him over the uncounted miles of that long pilgramage. That respect was strong enough that I am sincerely sorry for his unglorious end. GS was heartbroken. He loved Boy Toy with a passion only a child can muster.

I bought Tiggy brand new in 2016, just before the FIL suffered the broken hip which triggered his end of life journey. During the ensuing crisis through to the closing of his estate, Tiggy was beloved by the entire family. Despite how much they tease me for my quirk of naming my vehicles, it was the family which named him, Tiggy. I began to protest that "Tiggy" was a breach of protocol. I had named my vehicles in alphabetical order. Amos, Barney, Chug and Devo. The VW Tiguan was my fifth vehicle. He was supposed to have an "E" name. I decided to let the majority rule and let him be Tiggy. Getting to hung on the naming protocol would have started another tit for tat skirmish with Hubs over whether I am part owner of *his* vehicles. No, Dear, I ain't taking responsibility for your slovenly vehicle maintenance this year, either.

My absolute least favorite kind of vehicle to drive is the husbandly car payment. I doesn't care whose husband is making the payment. Once I smell the dick whipping going on, this beaten crazy bitch wolf ain't getting in that vehicle, much less touching the steering wheel. Somewhere over the course of allowing other family members to drive him while Hubs was grinding through the stress of playing executor for his father's estate, Tiggy became a husbandly car payment. It was a series of scenes where I most suspected Hubs was possessed by the spirit of his recently departed father, but he was still being asshole enough that I started refusing to drive the husbandly car payment. I'd rather drive the rejected Boy Toy, thank you kindly.

I don't know that I will be taking over as Tiggy's primary driver once I have him safe enough to carry children again, but for sure I can't go back to driving Boy Toy.

We see which way the oil sludges. . .

Hubs is consistently thrilled when I drive for my wandering sojourns. I can only drive as far as the ocean shore. When I wander on mass transit, one mode leads to another in a world wide web. When I drive, at least he knows what continent I am on. Been missing the far reaching freedom of mass transit. I'm not all the way sure I want to continue the burden of vehicle ownership. Let somebody else worry about insurance, fuel, maintenance, etc. . . Maybe get back to studying Mandarin?