Vroom, vroom to beep, beep

Way back before babies and bills were an issue (wait, bills were ALWAYS an issue) we bought a new car. We sold the monster, gas-guzzling Chevy Tahoe for a fuel-effiecient, reliable, safe Honda Accord.

I miss my Tahoe. Some days I wish I still had it. I felt like I was the queen of the road driving the biggest truck in the city. It purred at me like a lion. I could run over anything and not feel a bump. I would blast Robert Earl Keen or Jerry Jeff Walker (how cliche) while speeding down the highway. It looked good for a night out on the town and better with mud all over it.

But once the QT bills started to weigh as heavy as a magazine, we sent it on it's way. I cried. Not because I missed my car, but because I had to get rid of the last piece of youthfulness. (Is that a word?) I now had to start to be a responsible driver. It's time to be an adult.

So I pass my love on to my Accord. Yes, I can't see over anything taller than 8 feet; Yes, I get pushed around on the highway; Yes, I feel every bump on the road; But I do it all proudly. And I still have my REK cd in the stereo.