Ode to a deceased Sebring

You served us well, in your own style.

In you, I put on my engagement ring for the first time, and six months later, drove away from a church.

In return, you begged us for a head gasket. We gladly obliged.

In you, I drove myself and my dear husband loyally back and forth to our jobs every day, until we finally got a second car.

In return, you determined you really needed that oil problem fixed, to the tune of $800.

But you were loyal. So we showered you with gifts. We bought you a new top, a new coat of paint, new leather to dress you up. We even got you new chrome trim.

And were you satisfied? No, you were not.

In you I drove in terror to the hospital to be induced with my first child.

In return, you started burning oil yet again, and when we went to repair you, you locked up just for the grins of it and drove the bill up to over $900.

In you we made the ten hour trip with our seven-week-old baby to start a new life in the wilderness of Kansas.

And this time, you had had enough. You burned oil. You clanked. You refused to start. You blew a hose.

We gave you a new fuel system. It cost $700.

But was that enough? No. You had had it. You considered staying with us for a couple more weeks, and then sat down and never started again.

Poor Sebring. You traveled with us in Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Virginia, Washington DC, Maryland, New York, Pennsylvania, Kentucky, Ohio, and Kansas. We came to love each other.

And in the end, we left you sitting alone in the snow like an abandoned child.

And for what?

A miserable $300.

Goodbye, my lovely Sebring.