Change

I realized as I was driving back to work this afternoon that I didn't even say goodbye.

When I get home from work this evening, it will be gone. I won't miss it, but it still makes me sad.

In May of 1999, I was going through my divorce and I bought myself a 1984 Jeep CJ-7.

I took the top off immediately and proceeded to roast slowly in the sun until I bought a bikini top for it to shade my very, very white skin from the evil orb that is the western Colorado sun.

I loved driving my Jeep around. I love cars in general, but this Jeep was special. It was open and free ... just like I was at that point.

I drove my Jeep to my first date with Bill.

Then it started getting cold out and I got pregnant.

I told Bill that I was too old to be pregnant and hauling my fat self around in a bumpy old Jeep — how could he argue? So my beloved Jeep became Bill's daily driver.

Over the years, it was a reliable second car for our family despite the fact that we did little to no work on it whatsoever.

Last fall I had to drive the Jeep to work on a rainy day and it started to spit and sputter and generally object to being forced to operate under such dreadful conditions.

That night in a fit, I told Bill that I never wanted to drive that Jeep again. Because he had suffered though several winters driving the drafty, old beast, he agreed that a different car would better serve our needs (he recounted the numerous times he drove Margaret to pre-school with her teeth chattering and her lips turning blue).

Once we'd purchased a newer used car, we parked my once-beloved, but now-discarded Jeep at our friend's house. Recently, our friend moved and the Jeep ended up once again at our house ... where it sat for a number of weeks until I suggested that Bill get the "thing" ready to sell, so I didn't have to look at it anymore.

And he did. Sunday he took care of the minor issues that it required and then printed up a "for sale" sign and taped it into the window.

Monday at work, I placed a classified ad that started running today. Bill called me at 10 am — my Jeep had been sold.

I wasn't really prepared for this.

I spent 45 minutes of my lunch hour searching in vain for the title to my fallen beauty while the buyer waited patiently upstairs with a stack of 100-dollar bills. I never found it, but the buyer still gave us the money and we both signed a bill of sale.

We'd get a new copy of the title tomorrow and he was going to come back this afternoon and drive the Jeep away.

I won't miss it, but it still makes me sad.