I wonder what it is that causes a grown man suddenly to abandon his allegiance to one thing and give himself so completely to another.

For years, my husband, Steve, has been driving Ramblers, automobiles whose boxy style and stripped-down interior appealed to the 1950s and '60s middle-class workingman. From the time Steve purchased his first Rambler - a 1959 Classic - at a car auction in 1984, he has been totally devoted to that make of car.

Books on the history of Ramblers dot his bookshelf; pictures documenting the evolution of the car from its beginnings as a Nash/Hudson automobile through its final production year (1969) adorn the office wall. Coffee mugs, clocks, calendars, coasters, T-shirts. You name it. If the word Rambler or an image of the car appears on an item, he has it.

And anyone pulling into our driveway would know immediately that a Rambler man lives here, as almost two-dozen Rambler hubcaps decorate the perimeter of our two garage doors. And smack in the middle of the hubcaps is an authentic "Rambler Parts & Service" sign, one that would have been displayed in a Rambler dealership service area.

He also was a loyal Rambler driver. In the heat of summer, even when one of our family's more "normal" cars was available, he'd drive a Rambler, which meant traveling without air-conditioning (or radio).

Through the years, Steve also has found solace in these cars. After a day's work or when family matters became too raucous or complex, Steve would retreat to the garage, where I would find him tinkering happily under the hood of his car. The engine - usually a straight-six - was simple and fixable, unlike some of the problems that drove him from the house in the first place.

But lo and behold, one day last fall, after owning almost a dozen different Ramblers, the love affair ended.

"I'm going to sell my Ramblers and buy a Mini Cooper," Steve said.

And within the month, a young man - born long after the manufacture of that automobile had ceased - drove away with the last of Steve's Ramblers.

Before the ink was dry on the check, Steve put money down on a 1967 British racing green Mini Cooper station wagon, one that he first saw at a car show in Newburgh, Ind., the year before.

With a new car to fascinate him - albeit one with only 34 horsepower that cruises along on a set of 10-inch wheels - he is in the process of converting all those Rambler objects to Mini Cooper.

Instead of using a Rambler mug, he now sips coffee from a Mini Cooper cup. For Father's Day, he received a Mini Cooper T-shirt, and I know it is only a matter of time before those hubcaps with the big "R" that decorate the garage are replaced by ones from the Mini Cooper.

When will it end? I can't be sure. I'm just glad his allegiance to his wife is more lasting.