If My Body Were A Car

If my body were a car, this is the time I would be thinking about

trading it in for a newer model. I've got bumps and dents and

scratches in my finish and my paint job is getting a little dull,

but that's not the worst of it.

My fenders are too wide to be considered stylish.

They were once as sleek as a little Miata;

now they look more like my mother's old Buick.

My seat cushions have split open at the seams.

My seats are sagging.

Seat belts?

I gave up all belts when Ben & Jerry's

opened a shop in my neighborhood.

Air bags?

Forget it.

The only bags I have these days are under my eyes.

Not counting the saddle bags, of course.

I have sooooo many miles on my odometer.

Sure, I've been many places and seen many things,

but when's the last time on appraiser factored

life experiences against depreciation?

My headlights are out of focus and

it's especially hard to see things up close.

My traction is not as graceful as it once was.

I slip and slide and skid and

bump into things even in the best of weather.

My whitewalls are stained with varicose veins.

It takes me hours to reach my maximum speed.

I'm burning fuel at an inefficient rate.

But here's the worst of it--

almost every time I sneeze, cough, or sputter--

I leak oil.

I'm so ready for a trade in!

© 2003 LINDA S AMSTUTZ

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