You are such a big part of my life, I wrote about you in my book. We like the same kind of music. You knew me pre-kids. In the days of my television career, you never complained when I woke you up in the middle of the night and made you take me to work. When I strapped you to the back of a moving truck, you held on tight. When I gripped your steering wheel and drove you along the streets of an unfamiliar city, you caught my tears. And when life took me full circle, you carried me back home (with all four wheels on ground. I ditched the moving truck that time). And those dents on the right back passenger door? The ones you got when I hit my friend's Lexus that night before Bunko? (whoops) You rocked your battle scars with pride. Unconditional love, baby. I appreciate that in a friend.
Then I started having kids, and you kept them safe in the back seat. You didn't flinch when they covered you with cheerios and chicken nuggets. How long had those french fries been back there, anyway?
You were my side kick for ten years and 100,000 miles. And you still have a lot of life left in you. It's not personal, really. It's not you. It's not even me. It's them. Pretty soon, I'm going to have more of them than you can hold. I know you know this and understand. But it's so hard to see you go.
So long, dear Hyundai. It's been real.
The Hyundai Elantra was sold for an undisclosed amount of cash. Angie is now driving a Honda Pilot, despite the minivan industry's effort to shake her down and convince her to buy a Swagger Wagon. Word on the street is that Angie and her family are in talks to make their own video.