I Love my 2003 Toyota Avalon

I recently had the opportunity to “upgrade” my vehicle, but I opted to stick with my 13 year old car with 150,000 miles on it, because it is perfect. It has at least seven dents in, and none of them have any effect on the function of getting reliably from place to place. I haven’t tested the theory, but I have a feeling that I could crash into a telephone pole at low speed and there would be little to no impact on the function. This car seems indestructable. The internal mechanisms will continue to operate perfectly until the end of time. I’m pretty confident about it.

Furthermore, the external blemishes act as a theft deterrent, and completely sooth any worry. I park on the street in the third largest city in the United States and I don’t have to fret over drunken cyclists side-swiping my bae in the middle of the night, because it simply doesn’t matter. I scraped the hood when I briliantly used a metal shovel to remove snow, and I shrugged off the damage. The dings in the armor render it practically worthless and that gives it a very personal magic.

The once borderline luxury vehicle has just enough respectablity to prevent me from getting pulled over for driving while poor, and then subsequently searched for looking like someone who has done the drugs. It is big enough to haul anything under couch size, and it is cushy enough to absorb the hit of a pothole and dampen the noise of the guy blasting Pitbull in the next car over. Even if I had thirty grand to spend on a new whip, I think I would take ten international vactions instead. Priorities. I’m going to drive this car until the robot Ubers take over the streets, and that is fine by me. I love my 2003 Toyota Avalon.