Car is a high-roller

My car went to Las Vegas this weekend. Hopefully, it didn’t get itself wagered in a high-stakes poker game, but I suspect it had a wonderful time basking in the sun. I may never know because, sadly, I was not with it — funny how that keeps happening.
Being a car that gets the knockout gas mileage it does is rather like being a beautiful woman, it appears. Handsome young men keep asking if they can take her to glorious places for the weekend. My son has taken her to San Francisco twice, and this is her second trip to Sin City, as well. I was not included in any of these trips. She has quite a fan base and even though she is just a car, it’s nice to be loved.
Neither of my direct offspring was involved in this trip to “Lost Wages.” The passengers were what you might call my “out-laws.” I watched them all grow up, most from kindergarten, most from our neighborhood. They are still fast friends with my children. I am still a tight friend with their moms, and I love those 20-somethings almost as much as my own kiddos. One even rents a room from us, and has earned his way into the will by happily doing 10 times the chores my own brats ever did — and remembering my birthday.
So the minute I hear there are plans afoot for a group of them to take a road trip, I just can’t help but insist they take my hybrid. Not only do I know it will save them tons on gas costs, but it is newer and safer than anything any of them drive. 
It sounds wonderfully selfless and generous and kind of me, and I am happy to bask in that. But you all know the real motive, now don’t you? I only had two kids and one has fled to the East Coast. I occasionally still need young’ns to “work the farm.”
In 10 years, when they are all settled and prosperous, I expect karma and their good consciences should pay off handsomely. I figure I am building credits toward homemade cookies, being chauffeured hither and thither, and the ability to summon a group of strong backs at the drop of a hat. At the very least, I’ll get company for the odd lunch.
I am not above working that guilt and gratitude as a most effective tool in my dotage. I love to be in the company of these bright young things, and expect I always will. Not only will I get help moving furniture, they will keep me laughing with tales of those trips in my car to places with bright lights and all-night parties.
I just hope they don’t put high octane in her gas tank and bring her home with a new tattoo.

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