We all have hard choices in life. To move away from your friends for a better job. To put down your doggeroos. To see John Wick 4 for the 11^th time despite it costing about $100 a movie.

Or to sell a car you love.

See, back in 2013, I bought a Mustang. A blue GT 5.0 440hp beast. I had just met the Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World and seemed to be coming out of my self-isolation shell.

The car had a beautiful sound and enough room for two young boys in the back (and, little did I know, a HUGE bag of goalie gear.)

It was my mid-life crisis car. You know, get the hot girl, get the hot car, and get a nipple ring.

Well, I did two of those three.

I had always wanted some sort of muscle car ever since my brother and I built used car lots and fill them with fancy cars (then forced my dad to judge who had the best-looking lot). But something grander, a Corvette or even an Audi TT just didn’t seem, well, me.

The Mustang did.

It roared, but not too loudly. It zoom-zoom-zoomed, but not like the newer Teslas which accelerate at the speed of sound. It made all sorts of conversations possible as so many people would walk up to me and talk about their Mustang or how they always wanted one (sadly, no one ever did that for my Civic.)

That car took me on road trips with the boys, got The-Youngest to hockey and baseball practices, and ferried the family to watch The-Oldest transform into a musical genius.

It sported an “I gave blood’ sticker on the dash, a first aid kit under the front seat in case The-Youngest needed it (as he often did), and the steering wheel was well-worn where I death-gripped it drifting. I think The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World will also miss driving the Mustang like a Surrey-Girl with a trunk full of heroin being chased by police helicopters.

But the time had come to sell the old girl (the car – not The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World).

Why?

A part of it was the job. I had to drive into Burnaby and that was costing me a good $120 a week. I had to get a new car. That gas cost was killing me.

As well, though I had to admit it (and if you promise not to tell anyone), I was no longer interested in racing around, drifting on the turns, or eye-balling some young whipper snapper and daring him to beat me to the next light 50 feet away.

I worried too much about parking the car next to another car that might ding her. I worried about the wear and tear of the sun, wind, and rain. I slapped my head every time I misjudged the curb and carved up the wheels.

Besides, another truth was (again, shhhhh), I needed to pay for my new car.

The new car was not a Ferrari or apocalypse-equipped Jeep or a power truck with brass balls hanging from the hitch. No. It was….

A….

Prius.

Ok, laugh if you want, but it seems Joe 3.0 is more practical. One car for another. A fancy, powerful beast for a nice, economical, hybrid that drives in the snow.

See, Joe 3.0 is capable of making hard choices.

It was hard to see the Mustang drive away with someone else. It felt like when The-Oldest left the house. Life was changing for this dinosaur.

And I know as I get older and older, the choices will become harder and harder.