My VW Golf was my soul. That car was my child, my best friend and my house. In the six years we were together, I put 170,000 miles on it and took it through at least 30 of the 50 states. I loved it. It broke a lot. I got it used and it had been in an accident. I delivered pizza in it. I washed it every week.
Now I have a Civic. I got it brand new with literally eight miles on it. My very first automatic car with an actual CD player; I spilled a soda in it on my way home from the dealership. I have had it for two years longer than I had the Golf and it hasn’t been washed since 2007. I’ve put 80,000 miles on it. It’s been to Georgia and North Carolina. And South Carolina, once. I have only recently developed any emotional attachment to the car and it stems from the relief I feel when I see it in the parking lot and realize no one stole it.