Anyone who says you can’t put a price on love didn’t want to marry Sean. Because his price was $5,700. Or best offer.
A week before our first date, I bought a car. (Well technically, my Dad and I bought a car. We shared the cost, but he said he owned the engine and steering wheel and as long as I kept my checkbook balanced, I could have the rest.) It was a little four door stick shift and it was love at first test drive, even though I could barely make the thing go because I was new to the world of manual transmissions. But I loved it. It was freedom on wheels, and I was in heaven. I loved that car.
But then Sean and I went on our first date. And then the second, and the third. And by the end of that summer, as I headed back to college for my sophomore year, I knew it was love. I also knew if I wanted to keep the guy, the car would have to go.
Because my four door, dash-around-town, fun little car was a Honda. And that summer, as I got to know Sean, a brand new, full-time GM engineer, it became apparent that he could not marry anyone driving a Honda.
We dated three more years. In those three years, I enjoyed every minute I drove my car. He knew I loved it. But he was very clear: “No wife of mine will ever drive a foreign car.” When I pushed back – it was completely paid for and didn’t make sense to sell – I heard him swear for the first time. “It will be a cold day in hell before my wife drives a Honda!”
The ad went in the paper the next day.
Our wedding was 20 years ago today. I'd sell my Honda all over again. I love my Chevy Equinox and I adore my GM man.
I keep the clipping of the AutoTrader ad in a frame with his wedding picture.
Best trade I ever made.
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