My car.

My dear, beautiful car.

When referring to you, I define the word "beautiful" loosely.  I do love thee, car.  You have taken me across many miles and through many adventures.  You carried me to and from work and school in three different states, and you unfailingly saw me through two cross-country journeys.  You have never run out of gas, or broken down, and your quiet, unassuming exterior has helped keep the cops at bay.  You are beautiful indeed, my car.

But it would not be correct to say you are beautiful on the inside, with your diet Dr Pepper stains over every inch of your upholstery.

Nor can I say that you are beautiful on the outside.  But it is not your design that I would cite as the reason; your mid-90's grandma's-car sedan look, in all of its police-repelling splendor.  No, even that holds a certain charm.

It is your unfailing ability to attract dirt to your exterior.

When I have so little to complain about with you, my dear car, why is it that this causes me such grief?

For two very specific reasons.  First, when I say that you attract dirt, that is indeed an understatement.  I instead liken your surface to a singularity from which nothing, not even light, can escape, to which everything imaginable is drawn and then merges with your exterior.  Or, I picture you at night, curling over onto your back like a puppy and rolling about in the dirt, then waiting expectantly for me to see you the next morning, proudly displaying your new coat of filth.  It never rains in Arizona, so you can't blame it on the mud or the dirty rain splotches.  I may wash you one day, and the very next, you are inexplicably coated in dirt again.

However, for all of your charm, my dear car, I could almost put up with this first reason if not for the second. And it is that every time I am out driving, and I get honked at, or whistled at, all I can do is mentally facepalm and think about how disgusted the poor guy must be when he sees what a dirty car I'm driving.

Sigh.

Is it so much to ask, my car, that you clean yourself?  Perhaps lick yourself clean, like my cat...