There’s nothing sexier than a ten-year-old minivan with white paint chipping off the roof (discovered that this weekend) and one door that won’t open (discovered that six months ago but I’m too lazy to fix it. Plus…it’s a ten-year-old minivan). Anyway, nothing says sexy like getting dressed up to go out in your Sunday best on a Friday night and climbing in a car that smells like dirty feet (which is ALWAYS the way it smells because my son left his sneakers under the very back seat in 2008 and the scent wafted into all the carpet fibers where it has remained through detailing, vacuuming, and various spray-downs with Resolve). Nothing is more attractive, I’m telling you.
Ask anyone, they’ll tell you, too.
Y’all, I’ve got to get rid of my car.
It’s an eyesore. A blight on my neighborhood. A black mark (disguised in white) on my toy-littered driveway.
Even my younger sister has turned on it.
“I need a new car,” I say to her last Wednesday.
“Omigosh you’re not kidding,” she says. “Please get rid of it.”
“What do you mean?” I glare at her. “What’s wrong with my car?”
“Just look at it.” She makes a face. “It saw its best day six years ago. Back when Friends was still on television.”
Now, my sister is big on saving money. Huge. No one clips coupons better than her with the exception of the weird people who star on Extreme Couponers, which will never be her because she won’t let any of us submit her name. (Clarification: My sister is not weird). But when she says my car is bad, I guess it’s bad.
So I went car shopping this weekend. I hate car shopping almost as much as I hate real shopping, which I also did this weekend because it’s almost Easter and I waited until the last minute to buy my children new church clothes. (Don’t ask me what the Easter bunny might bring—usually he does his shopping somewhere after ten pm the night before. It’s a cellophane slash Easter grass nightmare in
my his living room).
Anyway, car shopping stinks. But on the other hand it was a tiny bit fun. It might have been more fun if I’d actually found something, but I narrowed it down. Checked a few off the list. Eliminated some possibilities and added a few others. Like, who knew Volvo’s were so nice? Or that some Honda’s have absolutely no trunk space? Minivans have lots of trunk space. Minivans have lots of other space, too. Like, space to hide smelly shoes. Space to stuff burger wrappers and candy canes from three Christmases ago. Space to stretch your legs…which ninety-nine percent of other cars just don’t have.
I’m gonna miss my minivan.
Maybe I should buy another…?
Whatever happens, it’s time to buy something. Time to say adios to the white machine and replace it with Oh-Please-Dear-God not another white car. Which begs a question: WHY are white cars always the cheapest? It’s so annoying. More annoying than Junior Mints stuck to the carpet in the trunk.
Stay tuned. Pretty soon I’ll let you know what not-so-new car I wind up with next.