300,000 mile checkup, Part Two

Aging sucks. I feel like a car that's running poorly and needs a complete rebuild from the chassis up.

I was thinking about this the other day as I went in for my annual birthday present to myself -- a facial, manicure, and pedicure at my favorite spa. There's all the buffing, the shaving, the waxing, the sluffing of dead skin, the plucking of stray hairs, and the polishing of various surfaces, not to mention maintaining the frame and pounding out the dents.

This is the kicker about aging, for women. There is So. Much. Maintenance. Seriously, if I were a car, I'd say I just had my transmission overhauled, fluids checked (see Part One), and tires rotated but I'm still kinda limping along the road getting passed by newer, sleeker models. What else can I do? I suppose I could get replacement parts, but then I'll look like an Impala with a set of Ford Mustang headlights that don't fit, so I'd have to get a new paint job probably, which would mean the body would have to be stripped down and refurbished, and it'd cost about as much as refacing the Empire State Building so it all sounds like too much money and time, considering I don't plan to change drivers.

It really brings to mind a fabulous old Chevy Impala straight out of American Graffiti. The problem is, no matter how well-maintained the car is, one look at it and you know it's old.

So I have decided to be a classic car. I will maintain the original parts, shine 'em up when they get dusty, and keep the interior clean. Fueled by a good lemon drop martini, of course.