a plea.

Dear Audi.  Dear, sweet, wonderful, kind Audi.

I really need something from you right now.

I need you to last for a few more months.  I need you to stop pretending you're going to stall and die.  I need you to stop shaking so bad.  I need you to stop eating through gas twice as fast as you used to.  I need you to make it just a little bit longer.  I know it's hard.  You're at the end of your life; it's been such a good one.  Think of all the places we've been!  California, several times.  Vegas.  Arizona.

That's probably it.

But really.

It's been so wonderful driving you.  You've taught me patience and understanding and budgeting and how to drive a stick shift.  Invaluable lessons.  I will never forget you, Audi.  You were my first car that I actually liked.  You made the end of my freshman year at BYU such a wonderful experience, even if you were already old at that point.  You were new in my eyes.

So just do me a solid, okay?  Last for a few more months, because you see, I'm getting elective surgery in 10 days and I could have used that money for a new car, but well... I'm just too vain at this point.  Unfortunately you're dying at the worst possible time.  So I just need you to last until about July or so.  Then you can rest from your labors.  I promise.

Love always,

Jen, your owner who may have not always changed your oil right when she was supposed to, but it was only because you never seemed to need it...