Dear 2005 Pontiac Montana

Dear 2005 Pontiac Montana

I’m sorry we don’t love you more. I’m sorry you rarely get washed or vacuumed. I’m sorry that we talk endlessly about other vehicles we’d rather own while we’re driving, cradled in your comfortable seats.

I really don’t think it’s you as much as it’s the fault of the slimy leasing company we’ve sworn never to deal with again or the useless service guys at the dealership who make us wait 20 minutes in a line that is only one person deep. Us, we’re the line. And they don’t even acknowledge our presence Montana! We’re there to ensure the continuous health and safety of your pretty, red self and we’re paying a lot of dough to maintain you. I don’t think it’s a lot to ask to be treated like we’re important to them. Or at least visible. Actually, we’ve been treated so badly that we’ve sworn never to buy anything from GM again. If we have our way, we’ll probably never buy an American made vehicle again. How Un-North American is that of us? That’s like us, as Canadians, deciding to buy our maple syrup from China! But they’ve driven us to it Montana.

(Driven us away. A car manufacturer. Ha!)

Maybe we don’t treat you very well because you’re our second Montana. You know how parents always seem to take more pictures of their first born. They brag to everybody about their every move and carefully record each activity in a gold embossed book…written in caligraphy. Everything in the baby’s presence is sterilized and baby-proofed, and bathed regularly. Then, along comes baby number two and the camera doesn’t come out as often, the odd milestone is recorded on the backs of old envelopes, there’s no set schedule anymore and baths aren’t as frequent as before. It’s kind of like that Montana. Montana the First, born in 2001 was the apple of our eye. We treasured his automatic sliding side door, we took great delight in keeping him vacuumed and washed. We took lots of pictures of our young little family, tucked safely into their captain’s chairs of the large interior cabin. We gushed to all who would listen about our Montana the First. But now, you’re the “second child” Montana. You’re been there, done that.

Hey, I’m not saying we don’t have ANY memories of you Montana. We have made a few together these last two years, both good and bad.

Remember that time I called Onstar? That was hilarious! We must have laughed for days, you and I.

We’ve filled your interior to the roof with camping stuff and luggage more times than I can count and I’m thankful that you’ve never once complained about having to haul all that crap all over Western Canada and Washington State.
sleeping it off We sure can count on you to haul up to seven people and their lawn chairs and Tim Horton’s coffee to soccer tournaments and you’ve been really good about the deafening noise created by five grade school kids and their art projects stuffed into the back for a field trip. I really admire those traits in you.

Of course there was that one time, just a few weeks after we first brought you home, that you and I accidentally backed into my boss’s BMW. Sure there were tears and visions of lost employment, but lucky for us there was absolutely no damage to either vehicle and I was able to continue working and earning the money necessary for your upkeep. We still have never breathed a word of that to the husband and I remain convinced that taking that secret to my grave is for the best. You and I are still on the same page with that right?

In conclusion Montana, I do hope that when you move out of our lives in March of 2008 (read: we drop you off at the dealership and run like hell), that someone finds you another great family to live with. You actually deserve it, even though it will forever piss me off that the passenger side window groans when it goes up, even after one takes their finger off the button.

Regards,
Procrastamom

______________________________

(this post is my entry for the contest going on over at Ask Patty – Carblabber and the Blog Blast going on over at The Parent Bloggers Network…because I would probably chew off my left arm for a circle bag made out of old tires! Handbag whore!)

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3 responses to this post.

  1. That’s one of the big reasons we got a Honda. The service people at the Honda dealership we go to are great. We’ve had such bad luck with American vehicles. SO I feel your pain there. 🙂

    Reply

  2. Some secrets are heathly in a relationship – I firmly believe this!

    Good luck with the comp.

    Reply

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