Cars and happiness

Alright, gang. Everybody needs to head over to Jim's place and give him props for buying a Jeep. Or, if you're like me and afraid of MySpace, leave him a comment here and give him props.

Jeeps rock. Jim notices that men compliment the platform and women compliment the color, but...Jim, everybody is complimenting something.

The vehicles we drive seem to say something about us. Before the Jeep, I drove a '97 S10. Which was fabulous and practical and served me very well. But...every time I saddle up El Jeepo, I smile. I can't help it. I love my Jeep.

I picked it up before I actually got demobilized. I drove it up to Fort Bragg and my fellow soldiers said, "[Abby], that's the perfect ride for you."

Driving a Jeep says, "I don't care that I get shitty mileage. I don't care that this thing rides like a '74 Dodge pickup. I don't care that I can't hear anything when I'm on the freeway."

They're just fun.

Also, other people dig 'em. I've told Mr. Abby this, so I'll share it with y'all. I occasionally will fall into a converation with a guy. Usually, they're pretty average guys. I'm a pretty average woman, that's how it works. But...the Jeep...

I was in the Keys, and had just put real clothes on over a bathing suit. I took the picture I posted a while back of El Jeepo serving as a towel rack. I was suddenly approached by a guy who was probably a couple years younger than I am. He was a little hottie. And with him, he had a no-shit beer-commercial smokin'-hot girlfriend.

"Hey," he said. "That's a nice Jeep."

"Thanks. I like it."

"I've been thinking about getting one..."

I smiled and nodded and finished the conversation, all the while thinking, dude - stop talking to me. Your chick is getting pissed. I'm an old married lady, and she's going home with you. Focus!

But such is the power of the Wrangler. I don't know if Jim's a single man or not, but he's in for a good time either way.