Farewell, Isabell Impreza. Godspeed.

This is…was…my lovely Isabell, in her glory days.

Look at that parallel parking job. That’s what all-wheel drive and being a boss can do for you. And by being a boss I mean switching from forward to reverse and back thirty times. Details.

However, this…this is Isabell now…

That’s what happens when you get t-boned into a median wall at 50 or so miles per hour. We won’t get into the gory details of that (other than 0% my fault my once), but I will say that the diagnosis of Isabell’s condition is now official:

Total. Loss.

NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! I liked that car! I liked that car a lot! It was so much fun! You know what kind of insanity you can wreak upon your poor passengers in a tiny little car with all-wheel drive and the turning radius of roller skates? I could take a clover leaf exit ramp at fifty and pin my friends against the windows while I giggled like a little school girl. Glorious!

U-turn in a street without backing up? Done.
USB radio with Bluetooth connectivity? You know it.
All white exterior with a gorgeously clean cream interior? Can I get an amen? AMEN!

Oh – and side curtain airbags so I merely bruise my face against a pillow of air instead of putting my head through a window? Yeah, check. Never buying a car without those again…Seriously…

And it was so young! We had so many more good times to have! I mean, we already had some good times in it. Well…not THAT good of times, nothing I can’t put in here without triggering my little cousin censors. Still, there was passing out in Isabell after hanging out with my Second City friends in Chicago, driving up to Minnesota where Gimpy the Younger somehow managed to get only 20 MPG out of Isabell while I always managed to get 30 plus (usually closer to 34…how fast was he going?), or driving to Wisconsin while everyone found out I had a Taylor Swift CD in my car…Darn good times.

But perhaps the most interesting aspect of this story is the timing of it all. I owned Isabell for only one year, but it was hands down the craziest and most influential time of my life. It was the sort of year where you lived for one, aged for five, and grew for a decade’s worth. And it was always nice to have Isabell to return to after whatever insanity I was running through. So here’s to one damn good car. May she find herself in the streets of automobile heaven, where they never have to salt the roads, the lights are always green, and there’s no stop signs for miles.

And she can take all the 35 MPH curves at 55.