A Letter.

My Dear Minivan,

We both know your bumper fell off the other day. I parked too close to a trailer hitch and your bumper caught. Then when I backed out, there was an unexpected bumper exorcism. Whoops. Then it happened again when I was out of town, without provocation, and Jake had to use some twisty ties to... "fix you".

Last night, on a back road in Lakeland, we had some problems. Your bumper started dragging on the ground. I mean, who's bumper just DRAGS on the ground? That has got to be the definition of ridiculous. Ridiculous car problems. And I haven't yet mentioned all the things I have fixed on you in the last year. Expensive things. But the bumper falling off three times? That's just insulting.

Although I do affectionately call you "Mini" or "Vanni", I hold you completely responsible for the recent events.

I don't clean you regularly, you smell funny, you've got cutesy stickers on your windows, I've even threatened you with a watery grave (which would be very easy in swamp land). So you have been through your share of "heartache". But let me tell you, you know nothing about heartache. Heartache is your car falling apart at 10:30 at night when you're all alone on a dark street.

It's not that no one has loved you. We've driven you to St. Augustine, to the beach a thousand times and across the United States (well, okay, you were driven by my lovesick brother and he wasn't very fun). Still. Still you so frequently flaunt your inability to stay in one piece.

All I'm sayin' is that we care and we show it.

And I think you need to start showing it, too.