This post contains a lot of melodrama and personification of an Italian sports car or two, brought to you by Big Flats 1901 Lager. ($0.50/can at your local Walgreens) It is also full of more whine than a teenager whose girlfriend just ran over his prized IS300 with a monster truck, while sleeping with his best friend. You have been warned.
For the diatribe below, I'm including a picture as penance. It's not a Fiat.
This weekend has to show some progress on the Spider. It's getting hard to think about her, sitting alone, unloved... The ugly duckling in my friend Bob's back yard, all brown and forlorn, sad because she's not the prettiest girl in the room anymore, because the Alfas steal the show. She's like the sultry brunette who, normally, would have the world bowing at her feet, but when surrounded by the stunning redheads that the Alfas are, she's just not quite on the same level.
I can't bear to think of my girl sitting there, longing to scream down country lanes again. I've got to fix her, make her stronger, better, faster. Give her longer legs, so she can run with the best of them. Modify her exhaust, so her wails will echo throughout Middle Tennessee, and possibly Gitmo, too.
I'm in my bedroom, now. Her new top is wrapped up in its box; a Christmas present just waiting for her to open it and put it on. Her new upper and lower control arms lie beside it, the gleaming, powdercoated metal easily able to pass for jewelry, to the uninitiated. Shock absorbers sit atop the box, waiting to go in-place.
I'm sick. The driveshaft and rear end are waiting in the back of the Mazda, waiting to be cleaned up and put in-place.
I don't know what I'm doing, anymore. I have to get her running. I can't bear the thought of her missing another summer, when she could be singing her song to the heavens, side-exit exhaust (to be completed) filling the air with glee.
On the other hand, though... I'm going to look at getting her a sister, this weekend. I found an X1/9, one town over from where I have her stored, that I may be able to get for a song. It's a sickness.