Not a day goes by that I don’t miss you. We had some good times- your smooth, cool leather seats and airy sunroof made you a dream come true to me. You were my first “real” car- my first big purchase (unless my thousands of dollars’ worth of student loan debt counts as a purchase). In a way, you were my first love.
I found out about my womb peanut, (later known as baby L) and I knew, almost immediately, that the time had come to part ways. You had topped 100,000 miles and your safety rating was, well, subpar.
Mom life. Mom car.
I abandoned you at the dealership. They auctioned you off to someone who can’t appreciate you the way I did. It broke my heart. It still breaks my heart.
The new car can never and will never be you. She’s clunky, difficult to park, and I’m continually defending her honor by declaring “It’s not minivan! It’s a crossover!” (I never had to defend you.) She does the job- she’s safe, reliable, and spacious. But she doesn’t have your fun, zippy 5-speed and your sassiness.
I hope you understand why I had to move on, and I hope you’re still going strong out there, making someone else happy.