I Heart SUVs

I drive a Jeep Wrangler and I'm proud of it. A Hula Boy sits on the dashboard. A hand-made rosary hangs from the rear-view mirror (no, I'm not Catholic). Pictures of close friends & family adorn the sun visors. A succulus plant named Charlie dwells in one of the cup-holders. And the last vestiges of one the most important relationships in my life faces the passenger seat : a napkin from an ex that reads "You look handsome" (complete with o's made to look like eyes).

I love this car. It's my pride and joy. Nevermind the fact that I've washed it maybe three times in three years. Please overlook the increasingly awful steering wheel alignment. One of the headlights is askew from a previous wreck, but I think it just makes my Sydney (yes I named my jeep) look like she's in a constant state of winking.

I even have a personalized license plate (stop laughing so loudly, it's distracting). Actually, it's in transition from WILROCU to CURIOS1, consistent with my recent personal re-branding launch. When I pass by other jeeps, their owners always wave at me, and I wave back. Because they know something I know:

The windows and top down, the sun in your face, the music blasting through the static-riddled speakers, the ability to hop a curb thereby avoiding a traffic jam...there is no greater freedom than this.

So when I saw the above picture at my local gas station, I panicked at first. I mean, what are we supposed to do? Us environmentally-indifferent, selfish thrill-seekers? Well let's just say after a few seconds I started to breathe normally again. I mean after all, I'd still have one arm and one leg left...and you can always have another kid, right?