If I were a car, I would be a 2006…ummm… something. I not sure what make or model I’d be, but I’d probably fall into the medium sized category. I’m not small and meek, but I hate to think that I’m a Landrover who parents by being big, authoritative, scary and loud. I’d be racing car red that has faded to a slightly darker, less impressive hue. And I’d certainly be manual, because that’s the way I work. I like to think that I practice conscious, mindful parenting.
It’s also impossible to crunch the gear box in an automatic, and I’m a top rate parenting cruncher, complete with cringing and an instant sweat breakout as I look around to see if anyone notices my noisy, embarrassing parental blunders.
If I were a car I’d run purely on gas (as a by-product of wheat), which, while being fairly cheap, would mean that I might lack power at times, struggling up the steep hills. The head gasket would need careful attention as I’d be prone to over-heating, especially on family holidays (more of that another time) and we all know that a blown head gasket can be costly, for all. My indicators would be a little unreliable, rendering other road users frustrated at having to guess which direction I’m going in, and stunned as I make sudden u-turns.
If I were a car my mirrors would always sparkle, affording a clear reflection to help guide decision making, but also allowing a guilty view of the grimy back windscreen. My tyres would require regular rotation as I wear through the rubber with poor control over the brakes, at times attempting to accelerate and brake simultaneously.
If I were a car my performance would rely on regular tuning and oil changes, and even some dormant periods in a dark garage, to rest and ensure longevity.
Oh, and I like to think that I’d be that first car that, whilst being a little dorky, is reliable and able to provide many a sweet memory.
