In order to keep it from overheating we would turn on the heater and roll down the windows. Doug would wear the same khakis to drive in since the springs coming through the cushion wore out his pants.
The Volvo had been our wedding gift from Doug's parents, or at least that was the running joke. When they handed it over to us I stood on a street corner in Brooklyn emptying the contents of the trunk with my sister Kristy who happened to be visiting.
I think we threw out at least 3 birds nests, a collection of rocks, acorns, and buckeyes. I returned the ax, scythe, and hoe, and know for a fact that some of the newspapers we pulled out were over 20 years old.
As crazy as it may seem, I loved that car. It was a total New York luxury.
And then one day it saved my life.
We were up in the country with friends, having a grand time. The guys were golfing, and Kristy, Kafka and I were on a two lane country road minding our own business. I signaled to turn left, slowed to make the turn, and then we were t-boned by the car behind us.
Seems the driver thought I was slowing down to let him pass.
Alas I was not.
I will spare you all the details here - but it did involve being cut out of the car, a trip to the hospital in an ambulance, and stitches.
The Volvo was towed to the junk yard where Doug went the next day to retrieve our belongings. To this day he describes it like going to a wake and saying goodbye to a good friend.
The car that replaced the Volvo has its own story too.
One that is a little harder to tell.
I will try that one tomorrow.
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