I wouldn't necessarily say that naming your car is 'important.' What's in a name? A car's a car, right? Well, it's kind of like mom says when we bring home animals. You name it, it's yours.

My dad 'bought' me a car two weeks before I started university. I would be living at home and commuting. My preferred choice was to dorm. I stared out in the driveway at this puke colored machine, walked away from the window, drawn invariably back to stare again. This went on for a couple days. Here was a car I didn't want, and I didn't want to pay for it. I didn't want to deal with driving at all. I took the car for a spin a couple times. Still decided I hated it. I'd rather live at school.

Well, no dice. I figured maybe I should christen the backseat or something to make the car mine, that'd have been fun. Instead, I gave her a name. I found out she was a girl the first time I drove her. My car's not the pretty lady sort of girl, not the kind of girl you take home to your parents. She's got an attitude, and not like sassy-cute or anything either. She's mean, she grumbles when I wake her up too early in the morning, she whines when it's too cold out. I think of her as that old grumpy housemaid on 'Will and Grace.' I dubbed her Conchita.

I had thrown around a lot of names, my best friend preferred 'Penny.' I said that's an awful name for a car. I tried it and she wouldn't answer to it. No, Conchita definitely stuck. In fact, I've got the whole family calling her by her proper name now.

Being the old hag that she is, she has a lot of surgeries. She had a heart transplant a few months ago, I noticed the transmission started to go in the middle of winter. Great, woman. Why do I take you anywhere? You're so high maintenance! Before that it was some kind of belt that hooked up the power steering. I couldn't turn the wheel as I backed out of my parking space at school. Dad had to come pick me up and drive her home. And before that it was some kind of axle bearing. All I know is she rattled like she was dying whenever I made a turn. More than once, on cloudy days I've accidentally left my lights on during school. Crank the key, and yep, she's dead. Good thing about this girl is all it takes is a little juice and she's up and running again.

Conchita and I have a sort of love-hate relationship. Most people who name their cars do so out of affection. Not me, I do it out of necessity. I needed someone to curse when the fuel pump busted in the middle of the highway on my way to skip town for the weekend. She was losing speed, and fast! I pulled over as quick as I could. It was our first ride on a tow truck together. I think she enjoyed getting the ride for once.

How long before my girl kicks the bucket, I can't say. She's a 1994 Mazda Protege, nearing 70,000 miles. She should be in excellent health, but sometimes she just gets in a bad mood and blows a gasket here and there. I try to gas her up as often as I can, but her trips to the mechanic are draining my funding. She's a rugged little rascal when she knows her limits, which is about none of the time. She pleads with me to let her go 'just a little bit faster' no matter where we are. Except she's afraid of cops. I got pulled over that time...

If you're thinking about naming your car, I'd say watch out. It opens the lines of communication. Sure, you can abuse your car, but if you name it, it can abuse you, too. Especially if you've got an old clunker. It isn't all that important to name your car. But for the time you spend together and the memories you make, it's probably worth it to put a name to the identity.

Learn more about this author, Sofia SanPasquale.
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