I didn't want her at first. She only had two doors! I knew this car was going to have to last me to marriage and maybe even my first kid. There was no way I would be hauling a baby seat (with a baby in it!) in and out of the back seat.
But then I sat in her. And those seats. Xena, you had me at your comfy seats.
Six years and 70,000 miles later, it was time to say goodbye.
Her air was gone. She had dings and scratches from all the good times we shared. And memories, sweet memories.
Like Kaite, my sis, falling out of the backseat onto the ground because her legs got tangled in the seatbelt.
Or playing S-Stop with a bunch of Lockheart pledges.
Remember Marianna changing your flat tire on the interstate in downtown Nashville?
Or belting made-up lyrics to the latest song because I have no idea what they're really singing.
And driving all around the Golden Triangle because we no longer want to sit in the dorm and study.
Our last drive was exploring Lamar County. We hit I59 with Taylor's latest hit blaring and tears streaming down my face.
I keep thinking how silly it is for me to be upset over trading you in. "It's just a car, for crying out loud, Lydia!"
But, no. She's not just a car.
Xena was the last big purchase my grandmother made for me. She gave us soo much over the years, both tangible and intangible. In my head, letting go of Xena means I'm losing a part of Grandma.
So is it silly for me to be so torn up over saying goodbye to Xena? No. I don't think so. Because she's more than a car . . .