PIGGING OUT

I am a spoiled child and lucky to have a dad who humors my need to ceremoniously mark the demises of faithful, family cars. Last year I wrote about stringing Christmas tree lights in his 79 Volkswagen rabbit. This year, our old Chevy Malibu is up for honors and decorations. This car replaced the Rabbit when I was in the 6th grade. I used to not like it for this fact alone. It was a Rabbit Killer. 

Then it became my teenage freedom, and I became Malibu Barbie. (Just to my mom.)  The Bu, my co-pilot B, and my cassette tapes rode all over Memphis. And in the Bu I could do things that my parents didn't do, like singing along to loud music and having my windows down. When I come home for holidays I like to borrow it and do just that. There are parts of being a teenager that I would go back and do and driving my old car is one of them.

I've made a pig stencil from some old BBQ ads my dad posted on his blog. The roof needed to be repainted and I offered to do it up right (not boring). My ultimate goal is to get the Google Earth satellites to take a picture of it when the car is parked on the street. So while I'm painting the pig, I'm going to pep talk the Bu into lasting that long.

That's really my only holiday plan aside from stuffing my face. I'd like to propose a toast, and I'm raising my glass (of the special sauce that keeps the Bu emission free for inspection.) Here's to good food, family, and the faithful cars that drive them.