I used to think personalized license plates were silly. I’d usually cross my fingers and hope for an issued plate that I could create some sort of mnemonic or play on words for easy memorization. That worked for a number of years but, lately, something changed. My Jeep is the first vehicle I’ve owned that is actually mine, free and clear. Living in NYC, I never missed having a vehicle–in fact, it’s practically a liability with alternate side of the street parking to fight for and generally more vehicles than available space. When I got to Pennsylvania, TheCop and I shared one vehicle foreeeever. And when it died? We got another beater that lasted until too many parts fell off to replace. Repeat ad nauseum.
When we finally could no longer ignore the need for a second vehicle, we went to the car dealer with The Plan: something big enough to hold a crew of five (and all the paraphernalia they carry with them) and 4WD for the Pennsylvanian winters. What did we get? A small truck with three seat belts on the bench seat, and two jump seats behind that. “But it has 4WD!”
You see my dilemma.