My car died. My big, comfy couch-y mom ride bit the dust. When the lady on the other end of the phone said, "I need you to pick up your car," after only a couple of hours into what was supposed to be a two day sleepover, I felt like I got called in to the Principal's office. She told me to get rid of it as fast as I could. I knew there were problems. I had stopped parking in driveways of people I like a couple of months ago due to the oil drip. I watched in disbelief as the odometer turned over to 172000. I had skipped three day weekend road trips, working hard to save three grand before dropping her off for her current spa day - A/C flush, oil pump, timing belt, cams (whatever cams are) and some other stuff. That wasn't even including the non-dangerous items I've been ignoring over the years - the shot suspension, the worn out hood and trunk lifts, the broken radio volume button, the down to only one drink holder in the front problem. So when those honest folks at Tony's called to say it just wasn't worth it and they closed her up, I guess I wasn't surprised. Just sad.
I thought of all of those drives to and from school with Shana, collecting the free-association thoughts from the back seat, all the family vacations, the date nights, the girls' trips, the star-gazing through the moon roof. Yeah, she was big. Yeah, not very sporty. Some people even made fun of her. Like she was a minivan or something. The nerve.
So I began my search for some new wheels. Something cute, finally. Something zippy. Something cheap. Something non-momish for this new phase in my life. Since I felt too guilty selling it to some unsuspecting chump on Craigslist, I found a big, bad dealership that appreciated my sweet car almost as much as I did and before they bandaged her up, getting her ready to roll into auction, I got in to something fresh, something close to zero miles and drove away, looking for something fun to do.
Anyone wanna go for a ride?
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