On my way home from work on Wednesday I was rear ended.

Car.

Go.

Boom.

Not only is this my baby, my Lil 3, that is only almost 3 years old, but it’s my first accident I’ve been in where I was driving. The only other one I was involved in I was the passenger. And I was 19.

It’s hot out. I have to sit and call my insurance company, and call the police. I had an evening planned.

Everything’s being taken care of and my car is going in on Monday for repairs at an excellent shop. The police officer that arrived on the scene was fantastic. My insurance company, showed how awesome they are yet again.

However, I am still sad about my car, and sad that it’s pristine condition has been jeopardized. It’s hard because I love my car. If you know me, you are probably well aware of this. She’s my everything. However, every time I see her I am saddened. I am nervous driving. I never walk behind her and stare at her ass anymore.

So I’m torn. Part of me feels like I can’t abandon her. Part of me is selfish and thinking about having a car that has an accident record. Even though it’s not my fault, it’s still a record. She still got hit. So I sell her? Trade her in? Get a new car? Her blue book value is slightly above what I owe for her trade in and well above if I sell her.

I’ve always told myself my next car will be a cute tiny coupe convertible with a chocolate brown top and roll bar that I will have custom painted hot pink. That’s a lot of pressure to put on me now too, but I have to admit I am starting to ponder.

Ugh.

Torn.