My Car to Me (conversationally): Soooooo, I hear you're getting a tax return. When's a good time to talk about that large cement block we drove over?
Me to Car CD player (in monotonous drone): One, you lock the target, two, you bait the line, three, you slowly spread the net, and four you
My Car: You know. Just because you'll have a shorter commute, you still NEED me
Me: ...catch the man. Lock the target, bait the line, spread the net
My Car:..This is just childish. I...clearly have...trouble...accelerating. I could die RIGHT HERE. And maybe I will! Then you'd be sorry.
Me: Oh stop. You're not gonna die. Don't die.
My Car (pettishly): I *might*
Me (imploring): Please don't.
Car (in a burst): I drive you EVERYWHERE! Do I *ever* complain??? AND you're a nervous driver, to boot!
Me: -- I'm less nervous than I used to be. I'm better about that --
Car: It's annoying! But really! ANYWHERE YOU NEED TO GO, *I* TAKE YOU!!
Me: No, I know, it's great and I totally appreciate that --
Car (hotly): -- And you can't even bother to vacuum me?? And my ceiling light??? Do you think dangling is *normal*? Were you really confident that strapping tape would do? Anyone would think you just don't even care --
Me: NO. I *do*, I DO care. Look! You're the *first* car I ever bought, the only one I have owned. Of course I care.
Car: --Wait, how old are you?
Me: Oh. Seriously? That's the road we're going down?
Car: Hah!...not really. I'm familiar with your license. But look: I may not be transmitting.
Me:...No. NOT the transmission. Let's not have it be the transmission.
Car: Who's to say? But in any case, that tax refund may come in handy.