First off, I’d like to inform you all that the “nudity” tag on Jules’ last post got us the highest readership we’ve had in months. You’re a dirty bunch, Internet surfers.
That being said, we’ve decided we’re going to tag all of our posts as nudity-related from here on out, whether or not they are actually nudity-related. Everyone knows that people googling “nudity” are secretly looking for a writing blog fueled by fart jokes, and we’re just looking to give the people what they want.
I could think of a lot of creative transitions to get from nudity to Valentine’s Day, but my parents check this site pretty often, so I’ll skip all that and get straight to the point. Valentine’s Day is nearly upon us, and I’ve fallen in love.
With Julie’s car.
There are several reasons why our romance is an unlikely one.
- This 2003 Honda Civic is, in Julie’s words, a shitbox. A wonderful, repaired, damaged, repaired again, silver, spunky little shitbox. (Its front door makes a startling buh-BUNK noise when you open it, and the first time I climbed into the passenger seat, I was convinced I’d caused irreparable damage.) I don’t usually go for the fixer-uppers, but this one stole my heart.
- Modes of transportation-wise, cars totally aren’t my type. I tend to go for the skis. (To my darling Nordica Infinites, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry you had to find out this way. We can talk this weekend.)
- The Civic and I are just so different, you know? I eat food, it needs gas. I speak English, it makes foreboding grumbling noises when it exceeds 60 miles per hour. We’re practically from different planets.
But this past Thursday, Julie’s car and I had our first date. I took the Civic for an internship interview about an hour away from campus (hey Jules, have I mentioned lately that you rock?), and we had plenty of time to bond. Long story short, by the time we got back to campus, the car and I were smitten. I fell in love with its flaws— the gas pedal that sticks sometimes, the check engine light that won’t seem to go off no matter how many times Jules checks the engine. (Note: Jules never checks the engine.) The car might groan and buzz and occasionally thud, but that thing will get us where we’re going, goddammit. And it’ll get us there in style.
This Valentine’s Day, the love of my life and I shall be traveling to Boston for a Kodaline concert. And Jules will be there too, I guess. Three amigos, one of whom is a car, celebrating a day of love the best way we know how: feeding our concert addiction.
So whether you’re single, dating, married, divorced, looking for love or running as far away from it as you can, we hope you have a happy Valentine’s Day. (And don’t mind the nudity tag, we’re just trying to set the mood.)