Or been traded in, but I am partial to the dramatic perspective in my pregnant emotional state.
After a decade together, my 12 year old car and I parted ways, suddenly, but expectedly. Are you ever really prepared for defining moments like that?
As I’m writing this, I’m realizing this is how hoarding happens.
Still, this is the car that was with me when I really “grew up.” It drove me around with my crazy friends in college, with someone always hanging out the windows. It drove my roommates through the drive through at 1 or 2 AM, picking up a snack through the sunroof. It took me on dates, road trips, and to cosmetology school. It drove me to hang out with “this guy Brian.” It had the steering wheel my hours-old engagement ring glistened on. I reserved my wedding date over the phone while in the front seat, completely giddy. It even took home my first baby from the hospital.
May car’s name was Fifi.
I cried watching my car drive away for the last time, tape deck and all. That was the fun part of me, leaving. Now, I have a beautiful, larger car, catering to a mom’s needs. But is a mom fun? This car is less, “Oh hey girl. Let’s blast TI and throw pickles at pedestrians!” and more like, “Hello! Can’t wait to fit a double stroller in my trunk and have ketchup packs smashed between my seats while I drive you to MMR vaccination appointments!”
Aside from being the catalyst for my identity crisis, I’m so thankful have let Fifi go for a newer, safer car I’d been hoping for for years. Gus especially appreciates the rear air conditioning.