The Silver Jetta Is Gone

It had been Sarah's dream car for more than a year when she finally got one in the spring of 2000. It had all the bells and whistles she wanted it to have, complete with alloy wheels and a sunroof. She named him Tennyson--the perfect combination of literary antiquity and suburban presumption. Tennyson was a beautiful, shiny machine--and still is. He's just not Sarah's anymore.

Her "check engine" light came on on Monday morning (on the way to the MVA), so she expedited the process of setting up a service appointment (it was time for the 40,000 mile check up anyway). Long story short, the repairs were going to be steep, and given the fact that her lease was to expire in May, the dealership cut her a deal. I went with her to finalize tonight. She is now the owner of a sophisticated, black 2003 Jetta sans many of the bells and whistles that made Tennyson what he is.

In the long run, she'll come out better, but for now she misses the old car. Funny how your entire car identity can change in an instant.

So, in memory of the silver Jetta that Sarah rocked for so long, I write this blog to commemorate the hours and long drives where we did nothing but listen to NSYNC's "No Strings Attached," talk about the men in our lives, tote Christmas presents and other shopping hauls, schlep groceries, and just escape, from time to time, the mediocrity that was Montgomery County--eventually all the way back to Baltimore for good.

So long, Tennyson. It was real.