An eighth of a millemillemilestone

Today, at approximately 3:04pm, my wonderful Ford Thunderbird LX crossed the 125,000-mile threshold. The Vehicle That Just Won't Die keeps on car'in despite the better wishes of My Pregnant Wife. When she is Post-Pregnant and we are back down to having only one domicile between us, it will probably be time to get a more family-friendly car. Maybe.

June of 1995, I bought that car. I was a 24-year-old First Lieutenant. No one new who Monica Lewinski was. Gas was a nickel.

What a car. It's gotten me into and out of snow-capped ditches in North Dakota. To the top of Pikes Peak. Down Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood. Across the Chattahoochee. Kansas. It's driven in three whole other countries, to include Canada, Turkey, and Texas.

I brought home my 5-month-old dog, Bailey, from the Minot Humane Society in it; she was curled up in the back seat, scared and confused as to what was going on. She turns 8 in August.

It drove me to my wedding. To my promotions to Captain and Major. To countless Arbyss'sies.

Five Thousand Gallons of Gas. Forty-one oil changes. One floormat.

*sniff*