When She's Ten Feet Tall

I read in an article that Volkswagen will return to using the "Rabbit" badge on the (former) Golf:

"The reintroduction of the Rabbit represents Volkswagen's commitment to this market and is a nod to the passionate North American enthusiasts who have an emotional connection with the Rabbit name."

I found this amusing because, as much as I love Volkswagens, I only have two memories regarding the "Rabbit name":

-One of my friends had a brother-in-law with a disastrous history of Volkswagen ownership, from a Karmann Ghia that is probably still rusting into a pile of dust on his mother-in-laws patio to a silver Rabbit that was a gigantic shitbox. Unaffectionately referred to as "The Ribbit", It had to be pop-started every single time he wanted to go anywhere, passengers were sickened from the multiple exhaust leaks, and the odds of making it to the intended destination were about 50/50 at best. He quickly became the guy that, when he called your house, you had to coarsely whisper "Tell him I'm not here!" to whoever answered the phone - otherwise, you invariably wound up driving to BFE to rescue him from another breakdown.

-Another friend of mine tragically lost her mother at a young age after an extended illness. However, due to prudent planning by her father, as well as a generous life insurance policy from her employer, the family was left in a very good situation financially. After my friend graduated high school, she was excited to be attending Ohio State University in the fall. Her father gave her some good news: He was going to buy her a new car to take to college. She was thrilled; her head was filled with images of her tooling around campus in her new candy-apple-red convertible, getting looks from all the college hunks. Figuring that they would start car shopping soon, she was understandably surprised when her father, with no advanced warning, brought home her new car just a few days later: A brand new Rabbit. In turd brown. With no options - nothing. 4-speed, no A/C, vinyl seats, AM radio. To him, this was an immensely practical purchase (after all, this was at the height of the Carter's energy crisis). Trouble is, he forgot that "practical" is the last word in a 19-year-old-girl's vocabulary. Naturally, she hated the car, but cared about her father's feelings too much to say anything. She drove that fugly thing for years and, much later, admitted that it had actually been a pretty good car. But she still would have rather had a new Camaro.