To- My Dumb Car.

I hate you. I really do. I have a pit in the bottom of my stomach, and in it brews a deep loathing which I frequently exercise on you. Please note: you bring it on yourself. If you didn't keep stuffing up and having various bits and pieces ceasing functioning all over the place and needing fixing or replacing, we could probably have a rather peaceful relationship going on.
I'm afraid to day might be the last straw. It's only partially because you won't even start for me, let alone give me so much as a clue as to what is wrong with you. It's mostly because it's cold and wet and since you refuse to start I have to walk up a hill at 8.00pm tonight to get to my netball game. And then, I have to walk home after it.
I hope you're happy. I hope you like ruining my life, because right now, I'm thinking of ruining yours. If you cost so much as a dollar over $100 to get you up and running, it'll be off to the wrecking yard. I hope they allow me to sit by and watch and do NOTHING, because quite frankly that's all you've done to me over the last year and a bit I've owned you.
I'm sorry it has to end like this.
But I hope you know it's entirely your fault.
I don't even drive like a hoon.
Love (or rather hate, as the case may be), Rebekah.
x