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I’m so grateful for my 13-year old Honda CRV. I remember when I first bought her. Her silver paint job shone radiantly in the sun. Since then her paint job has faded. It’s a duller gray, with a hint of luster to it still. She’s been banged up a few too many times. She’s got scratches all over her from careless keys, door dings and banging bookbags.

She’s still beautiful to me. I feel much love and gratitude for her.

She’s taken me to the airport to get married to my husband. She’s taken me to the airport while I was in labor with both of my children. She’s taken me home from the hospital with my newborn children crying hysterically in the backseat. Did we put the carseat in right?

She took me home from work the day I quit my corporate job and followed my heart and dreams. She’s taken me to birthday parties, soccer games, girls’ nights, church, grocery shopping and the everyday events that make up our lives.

I know the day will come when we’ll have to part, but I’m content and grateful for her. I don’t need a new, electric, shiny, automatic, upgraded, financed model to replace her. She’s my girl.