A letter to my car.

Oh, Bathilde. I knew from the day I met you that I wanted you forever. I did not know that "forever" would be a mercilessly short two years.

I brought you home, gave you a bath and decorated your windows with an Apple sticker, a Righteous Babe sticker, and a USFA sticker. I gave you new Dunlop shoes. In return you gave me cold a/c in the summer and glorious heated seats in the winter. I loved using your sunroof on cool mornings and sometimes opened you up at night so I could see the stars.

I received some grave news about your health recently. I've decided to bring you home and care for you as best as I can. I was told your engine block needs to be replaced, and unfortunately it is cost prohibitive. I don't understand why the parts are so expensive: you have thousands of Beetle brothers and sisters on the roads. The labor I can understand- this is major surgery. After spending thousands of dollars already to have your various quirks straightened out, as well as the bottom half of your engine replaced, Kelly from Kelly's blue book says your worth is not more than what we will pay to fix you. This Kelly person never consulted with me as to your worth. You have kept my family safe and comfortable on several trips to Phoenix and even Las Vegas. That is worth more than dollars. My daughter loves you, as do I. You have been on the receiving end of many of her hugs, and she has even climbed Mt. Beetle on a few occasions.

After your diagnosis I drove you home, carefully carving the canyon that is Gates Pass, not knowing if it would be the last time I would do so. I have decided that I would donate the rest of your organs to other ailing Beetles when it is time. In the meantime, I promise to be careful driving you and keep you clean. You were and are a fun, fun car to drive and I will miss you greatly.