Mother, May I Drive with Danger?

I've become so nonchalant lately about Legy, Ye Olde Subaru. About six months ago, the right front tire started leaking very slowly, so that I had to put air in every two weeks. Two trips to the Sears Auto Center confirmed that the tire was fine, all was well, please pay $35 and leave quietly. I was not to be deterred.

"So," I asked the mechanic, "why is the tire leaking?" Note my keen investigative skills. He seemed surprised by the question, but set off to find the answer.

"Your rim is corroded," he replied, ten minutes later. The rim? Corroded? "Yeah, it's made of real cheap aluminum. The seal won't hold when the metal's pitted." I drove away in a panic over how much I would have to fork over to repair yet another of Legy's aging parts.

Silly me. Hear I am, months later, and my only expense is a couple quarters every 14 days to put a few pounds of pressure in the tire. Problem solved. Of course, one day, the rim will crack in half and sparks will fly as I careen down the Dan Ryan!

The truth is, Legy is holding it together like a real trouper. She's an aging showgirl with great gams whose first facelift is just starting to crinkle, but hot damn! she's still got it. I wonder: should I get her the tummy tuck and laser hair removal she really wants, or should I let the old girl age gracefully?

I suppose that this is all rather sexist, but having chosen a feminine persona for my car, I'm stuck. If it bothers you, picture me as Catherine Zeta Jones, and Legy as Michael Douglas, and we can all sleep easily tonight.