Mirna

Long ago I named my Hyundai Mirna. She used to love me, worship me as a matter of fact. Took me everywhere I wanted. No moaning or hacking coughs, no hesitation, no weaving back and forth. She gave me a smooth, calming, sensual ride every time.
Now, after six years, Mirna is cranky and unreliable. She snorts when I stick the key in, whereas before, she would whirr beautifully. When I put her in reverse she bucks in protest. I can't get comfortable in her seat. Her wipers are sluggish and her horn is flat as a muted trumpet.
I am not responsible for any of this. I speak to Mirna in low tones, whispering compliments she doesn't deserve. I run my hands over her, using a clean cloth, wiping away sludge. I never kick her tires. Any scratches are immediately painted over. If I see her eyeing a newer model, I simply smile and accept it.
Today she repaid all my attention and devotion by posting her check engine light in the middle of my day. Disgusted as I was, I held my temper. I had to get the oil changed anyway, so I mentioned the check engine light to the attendant. Surprisingly, he pulled out some electronic gadget with a screen. He pulled off the cover on the left side of my dashboard, something I'd never done, and stuck the prongs into Mirna. We looked at the screen, which stated there was nothing wrong. Then he yanked the prongs out and to my joy the check engine light was gone and stayed that way all the way home.
That man with his device found Mirna's G spot. I could sense her disdain for me as I pulled into my space. Now I will go online and find one of those devices. I refuse to lose my beloved to some guy named Enrico.