In case things were getting a little too feminist on the ol’ blog here for you lately, two words: bikini shopping. And, all that it entails – roiling self loathing, misery, mental despair, etc. etc. Clearly, I need liposuction. Or a genie in a bottle. Yuck. Ok, back in normal clothes, allow me to return to aggressive, self-assured, relatively well-balanced self. I’m sure I’m not the only one who is surprised at what getting older looks like. Um, right?
Anyway, I have sad news to report. Raus died. My boat-like, road-scarred, vomited-on 1997 Ford Taurus went out with a clunkety-clunk-clunk-bang. So, Friday was used car shopping. Used for two reasons – first, I’m cheap about most things other than good wine and flattering pants (spare no expense on either – more of the former necessitates even greater performance from the latter). But, second, I’m just not a new car type. My cars get washed by the rain. I scratch them (I’ve run into my own house twice). And, I really like to turn them into giant lockers full of all my toys. In a new car – that is highly wasteful behavior, very upsetting to new car types. So, the second time my bumper was tapped in holiday traffic and I was able to say, no problem, enjoy the holiday and really mean it, well, I knew I was a used car driver.
So, with the help of a couple of work buddies and a quick “which loan do I pick” consult with dear old dad, I’m now driving a 2002 Ford Escape. Finally, I get to be excited by a CD player and keyless entry just like everyone else. I’m so not the Joneses.
The bike, clubs and carts all fit in easily – so, it’s the big wheeled locker I’ve always wanted. It was the smallest SUV/Jeepy-type on all the lots I visited, but without the monster vehicles nearby to dwarf it, I must admit it looks a bit tankish (though still smaller than Raus).
(Um, Mom, if you're reading - note the background. I've given up. Come soon to save the yard from the reign of a born apartment dweller. )
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