It is at the point where some of my prized possessions have turned against me. I have overheard a number of conversations in recent days, including one between my cars. Yes, cars can talk. I hear voices. Honest.

1974 MGB to 2000 Lincoln: I need to have a heart-to-heart chat with you.

Lincoln: No problem, Dude, what’s up?

MGB: It’s our owner. He’s not being nice to me. Lincoln: I hear you, Man. I had such a good life when his father owned me.

MGB: I never met his dad. It sounds like he was a good guy.

Lincoln: He tailgated and swore at other drivers, but he was good to me. When I had a rattle, poof, fixed. He didn’t bang on the dash like a lunatic to make it go away. Regular oil changes. I was kept clean inside and out. I got to go out on the town on Fridays. That’s when I could get my engine revved and pistons primed. There are some hot cars out there.

MGB: So, you’re dating?

Lincoln: I’ve had a couple of lady friends. Nothing long term. I went out a couple of times with a hot little Camero. She had a V-8 with a four on the floor. Then, COVID struck and I couldn’t get within two metres of her.

MBG: Did you wear a mask when you saw her?

Lincoln: She made me.

MGB: Did she wear one?

Lincoln: Nope. She said something about me looking better with my grill covered. She had a great sense of humour.

MGB: No offence, but cars like yours aren’t attractive. You’re long and wide and overweight. You’re perfect for funerals and old guys.

Lincoln: Look who’s talking, Mr. Pukey Green. You look like a pregnant roller skate.

MGB: But I’m cool. I am a sports car. Top down, the wind flowing through my owner’s hair.

Lincoln: Our owner isn’t cool. There’s no hair flowing. He looks like an old fart trying to relive his lost youth.

MGB: That’s why he has you. You are his old man car and I’m his cool car. Get this. A guy in a swanky BMW convertible pulled up beside us at a red light the other day. The man looked over and asked how old I am. My owner told him, and money bags said I am in great shape. It was nice coming from a guy with a 100k car.

Lincoln: Was our owner pleased?

MGB: He was so proud that he said he was going to check the oil and wash me.

Lincoln: Did he?

MGB: Of course not. He’s too cheap to spend a couple of bucks at the coin-op and doesn’t know a dipstick from a radiator cap.

Lincoln: You do look a little dusty.

MGB: I sat in his garage for a month while he waited for a part so he could take me to a place to get fixed.

Lincoln: Well, British cars from your era pretty much sucked. They were in the shop more than on the road. North American vehicles are where it’s at.

MGB: You know, if we are going to live together, we really should try to get along. It’s our knucklehead owner that we should be talking about.

Lincoln: Go ahead. Tell me more about him. Get it off your dash.

MGB: He doesn’t know how to use the choke. I sputter and putter and stall. He has left it on while driving to the point where the smell of gas overwhelms me. He runs me so low on gas that my fuel pump cries. Lincoln: That is awful.

MGB: He shames my body. He tells people my interior side panels are made of cardboard.

Lincoln: Are they?

MGB: Yes, but he’s condescending. He doesn’t lock my doors. He tells people that he doesn’t want my top slit. He thinks Jack the Ripper is running around town. What about you?

Lincoln: I am leaking something at the back. If he doesn’t do something, I am going to bleed out. I like it when his wife drives me. She’s sweet.

MGB: She hasn’t driven me yet. I was told that she can drive a manual transmission with the best of them, but is worried about not having power steering. My owner has twigs for arms and complains about it all the time.

Lincoln: So, what are we going to do? MGB: What can we do?

Lincoln: I think we’re stuck with him for the time being

-Cam Hutchinson