I still have the license plates from my first car. I found them in my closet this evening when I was looking for a pair of slippers for Josh. It doesn’t matter though – I know those number plates by heart.
I had a lot of fun in that little car. There was one time, when I was a senior in college, that I fit six people into it. (Picture six people in a tiny hatchback – 2 in front, 3 in the back and 1 in the trunk. It resembled a clown car!)
The furthest I ever went in it was Cincinnati, and it’s a miracle that the car made it that far – that it didn’t run right, it just didn’t have a whole lot of horsepower. It didn’t like driving up big hills or picking up speed quickly. My dad used to joke that I had to wind it up before I started it.
It lasted me all through college, and then the transmission started to falter not long after I finished college. The poor car only had 65,000 miles.
Although it pained me to get rid of it, I took advantage of the post 9/11 deals and got my current car on a no-interest-for-five-years loan.
If circumstances were different, I would still have the Ladybug. I miss that little red car.