Our marriage: a 1963 Saab 93 Sedan

I have come to think of this marriage through this metaphor:

When I am a young man someone gives me a shiny, showroom-condition Saab sedan. Sixties vintage. The interior is lovely. The paint is shiny and the body pristine. I am handed the keys with nothing more than a smile and a pat on the back. Like many used cars, this one has no owners manual tucked into the glovebox.

I take care of it the way I think cars should be, the way I've always seen automobiles cared for and maintained. Regular washes and oil changes. I fill up the tank with brand-name gas every Thursday. I can't say that I pamper the vehicle, but it is hardly abused. As I learn about the car's former owners, I am amazed that it runs so well and looks so nice. They were not very concerned about this little import's long-term health, even if they did the best they knew how.

If you understand anything about early Saabs, you already know what's going to happen: the engine will gasp and wheeze and stop altogether before too long. Unlike every other car on America's roads, this Swedish beauty sports a 2-cycle engine. If you don't add oil to the gas tank, you will damage the engine in short order. If you never add oil to the gas tank, the drivetrain will be destroyed. Kaput. Clunk.

But who suspects such Scandinavian wackiness? It's a car! You just put gas into the gas tank and oil down the OIL tube! How the heck is a guy suppose to just know this? Like I said, there is no owner's manual.

For the record: had I known, I would have been adding the oil to the gas from the very beginning. It was never my intention to cause or allow the destruction of something entrusted to me, something beautiful (if not a little bit funky).