On an otherwise ordinary afternoon, we decided to look around for a smaller, newer, more fuel efficient car. And there she was, white and gleaming in the sun. Clean as a whistle, a 2022 Kia with less than 3000 miles under her belt. The price was right. An observant passerby stopped to encourage us with a rave about her 2013 Kia. “Never a moment’s trouble!” We were sold.
Phyllis is a dream. She scoots us around town with infrequent stops at the gas pump. She has a way of warning us of coming traffic with a nurturing beep that makes me feel cared for. Her red rimmed rear window catches our attention when we forget where we parked. (I’m sure none of you have that problem). She is compact but roomy inside. I couldn’t ask for more.
We have loved so many cars. There was the 1963 Ford Galaxie, a gift from our brother, whose wheelwells had to be bailed out periodically in a rainstorm. There was the yellow Toyota truck who seemed to lose another piece of himself every time we drove him out of the garage. Money was tight in those days and we managed with what we had. Later there was Ruby, my little red Volkswagen for whom I still mourn, who succumbed to osteoporosis after years of faithful service. I won’t bore you with tales of Simone, Roxanne, Harrison Ford and others. But now Phyllis. I’m in love!