I got a call from my pal the other day. Gotta go down to the hobby shop and check out their new arrivals. So I dropped everything and made a bee‑line for the “new arrivals” shelf.

I saw her hiding shyly between a Phantom and a Sherman, protecting her virtue from styrene perverts like me. It was love at first sight, the beautiful curves of her fenders seducing me, the faint smile of her air‑dam tugging at my heart. I had to have her, I could not lose her to some other modeller that would not care for her the way I could. I knew I…

Can’t Live Without Her!

I took her home, but not to meet my mother ‑ she’s not that sort of model! What a glorious first night we had! We were totally infatuated with each other and we stayed up until the early hours of the morning, considering all the possibilities that this new relationship could bring. Straight from the box? Competition car? Street Custom? After a reluctant and lingering goodnight, I stayed awake until dawn. I couldn’t put her out of my mind, I was going all the way this time!

The next afternoon, the relationship took off in earnest ‑ and soon I saw that this was going to be a love‑hate relationship. She stubbornly refused to let me grind out her wheel‑wells, she rejected my offers of cyano, insisting on liquid cement instead. By night fall, things were going a little better. I knew how far I could push her – and in turn, she had given in to a few of my demands. But I was mentally exhausted, and I needed a break from the tension that prevailed in the workshop, so I visited my pal. We spoke of this and that, but my mind was elsewhere. The longer I was away from her, the more I missed her and the more I obsessed about her.

The next day, the relationship started going seriously wrong. The usual ritual was followed to the letter ‑ wash with dishwashing liquid, air‑dry in a dust free environment and so on. As soon as the first coat was on, small fisheyes developed all over her bodywork like choc‑induced zits. Recriminations flew back and forth. She was being obstinate and uncooperative. I was moving too fast for her liking. The parting was swift. Back into your box, take all your belongings with you, get off my workbench, I don’t want to see you again!

She sulked in the corner of the cupboard, feeling very sorry for herself. I ignored her for a week, but she had a way of making me feel guilty every time I walked passed her. I soon realized that I could not live without her!

The reunion was as swift as the departure had been. I broke down and begged her to take me back. It was entirely my fault, and I would try to take her feelings into consideration in future. We would plan the relationship together and take things real slow – first a light sanding, followed by primer, a guide coat and so on, always leaving a week of drying time to let her grow into the relationship. Never again would I force a colour coat on her without her being comfortable with it.

It was fast becoming a steady relationship, as comfortable as a pair of old slippers, but something was missing from the liaison. The spark of lust when I first saw her on the shelf was gone. The fire in my heart, as we wrestled with her modifications, had disappeared. Quite frankly, I was getting bored. Even when I had hated her, I had done so with a passion ‑ but this boredom carried no emotion with it.

The final straw came when I got a call from my pal. Gotta go down to the hobby shop and check out their new arrival!

– – – – – – – – – – – – – –

POSTSCRIPT: We still see each other occasionally, but we no longer have real feelings for each other. Sometimes I call on her for a spare decal, or a set of tyres, but we never look each other in the eye, never open a bottle and reminisce about the old days.

I’m not saying that the new love of my life is promiscuous, but she lets me open her panels, fettle her hinges, drape her with cheap photo‑etched jewellery and dress her up in the loudest red coat you have ever seen.

But late at night, when my new plaything has been put to bed, when all is dark and I am alone with my thoughts, I think back to what could have been ‑ and I wonder if she is thinking of me.

Until next time – model with passion!

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