My husband is selling his 1996 black Honda Prelude SRV coupe. When I first met him, the Prelude was his baby. He spent ample time washing it, waxing it, and certainly nobody else drove the car. I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the line, he realized that the Honda Prelude was just a car. There were other things more important to him. After dating for about 3 years, I actually drove it. And the washings petered down to a couple of times a year.
His friends still ask after the Prelude – always referring to “her”. It was part of Emile’s identity – he drove that black Prelude, he was that guy around Celestica. It drove like a dream, cornered like mad, yet each month, just not the same. Rattle here, rust there,
He held on to it – it was paid for, and if he could just squeeze one more season out of it, we could avoid putting the money out for a new car.
But now it sits in the garage – knowing its fate, I’m sure. I can only hope that someone comes along who loves it as much as my husband did.
August 20th, 2012 Extra-Ordinary: She had her day, The Prelude. Sometimes things are more than just things.
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