I knew from the moment we met that you were different than the rest. Your SMG transmission was red hair in this world of blondes and brunettes. “Don’t do it, don’t take that one home”, they said. But I didn’t listen. Never once did I regret that decision.
Day after day, your can-do attitude and playful demeanor brought a joy to driving that I hadn’t experienced before. There wasn’t anything or anywhere you wouldn’t go (when properly equipped, of course). Mile after mile. To the beach, to the mountains, through inches of snow, and 8,200 RPM you went. Smile after smile.
Those fun drives through the hills seem a distant memory now. Three years. Wow. These days your sticky tires roll on nothing but highway, rarely getting up to temperature. Commuter duty may not be what we had in mind, but you look great doing it, and do it so well.
You may have noticed there is something different about this week. Maybe the giveaway is the pile of your own parts in the trunk. I know you sense that something is wrong. This week will not be easy for either of us. Come Friday, you will travel south to a new home. With a new owner. And in this place your legs will once again be stretched like you deserve.
Letting you go isn’t easy. Though I never gave you a name, you are my pet tiger. A handful at times and way more than I needed but everything I ever wanted. I’ll miss your growl and that menacing stare out from your cage…. err parking spot. Of all the BMWs I’ve owned, you, M3, were hands down my fave.
Our time together may come to an end but your time on the road has just begun. Farewell, M3. Goodbye.
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