Kia and I

Yesterday I got woken up by my sister, Vicki who told me our neighbour stopped by to talk. Someone had smashed my car window in.

I didn't immediately get out of bed.

"What, you don't care?" my sister's voice sounded flabbergasted. It made me laugh. What hasn't happened to my car?

My father bought me my Kia Rio hatchback as soon as I turned 18. I hated her then, I thought Daddy was making fun of me because the Kia had a mosque of a hatch that resembled my butt. I treated her with a "meh" attitude throughout the peak of my adolescence and five years later she is shaded with scratches, has a smashed tail light, a missing antenna and cigarette burns spotting the ceiling (I can keep going).

As a matter of fact, now that I look back on it I can honestly say my Kia has gone through more shit than I've had heart breaks. Her lock was picked and broken into once when us girls were out clubbing. Then another time she was stolen for a couple of days until the police recovered her at a local train station. More recently some naive P-plater forgot to check her rear view mirror and reversed right into her poor door, leaving a decent-sized cavity on the driver's side.

In our younger years, my Kia witnessed the works from anger rants, hidden weed sessions, heck she's even tolerated my blue days belting out ballads from Mariah Carey's Music Box. She's heard all the latest gossip, experienced all my mood swings and knows all my darkest secrets.

So back on my bed that day drinking in Vicki's astonishment, I pulled myself up and headed downstairs to see my Kia. You see, if this was some weird attempt from Karma or the universe to try and ruin my day, my reply would be, "Pfft, that all you got?" Because Kia and I, we're ready for anything.