The Jeep (pictured above from years ago…license plate is different now) has broken down for the first time ever. I bought her brand new in 2001 and I have been most lucky. At this moment, there are so many things wrong with her and it is going to be $900 to fix her. That is a lot of money, money that was supposed to be spent in Ireland. Don’t worry; I’m still going to Ireland. I already have the plane ticket. Guess I will have to hitchhike a bit more (just kidding, mom).
The mechanic said there are two schools of thought and that neither one is right. One school believes in maintenance: tune-ups, transmission flushes, etc. The other school believes “If it’s not broke, don’t fix it.” Obviously, I belong to the second school. I have been a negligent Jeep parent.
The mechanic hinted that now at close to eight years old, over 100,000 miles…I may need to start thinking about trading in the Jeep. The problem with this is that I love her. She is the only thing that I have ever really owned. And she’s just so damn tough. She has managed to pull me out of the muddiest of situations. That awful blizzard we had recently, you know, the one where no one was allowed to be on the road, well, the Jeep performed amazing feats. She didn’t hesitate once.
I despise the idea of someone else driving her. No one could possibly love her like I do. But then again, my love never translated into basic maintenance. Next time I will be better. I will be more mature. I will mark oil changes on my calendar. I will get a garage.
You see, I can’t see my life without a Wrangler in it. When I’m having a bad day, I crave that little Jeep wave. I have to know I can drive over curbs and through ditches. I need to have a winter vehicle that transforms into a summer convertible dream.
