We have two cars. Both of them are up there in years AND in mileage.
I hate one way more than the other.
My husbands car. He has a 199reallyold Cadillac that, in it’s day, was probably very fancy schmancy. In THIS day it’s, well, noisy, smelly and old.
If this car were a person, we would put it in a home and visit it daily while holding it’s hand until it breathed its last breath. If this car were a person, we would question why it was even allowed on the road.
OK, you get the picture, right?
This car is embarrassing to drive. Well, to me it is. I don’t think my husband cares all that much. And truthfully, I wouldn’t either if it weren’t for all the old car clunking, groaning and farting noises that it makes. Not to even mention the foul odor that my husband claims it’s not emitting.
Well, today. My husband took my middle aged Honda Pilot. Which doesn’t fart, smell or make any noises…anymore. It had some things done. Coiffed. He *claims* that he needs it to transport canned goods and that my car holds more than his does. When I suggested that his car is HUGE. Like, boat sized. And could surely fit enough canned goods to feed an entire state, he mentioned something about the shocks or suspension or some sort of leak. Then, he took my keys. My fate hanging with the cars suspension.
When I crossed my arms over my chest, stomped my foot on the floor and had a mini-tantrum at the prospect of driving that piece of shit he calls transportation, he laughed at me. LAUGHED. I mentioned that he’d have to go through me to get to my car in the morning. Well, he snorted and said something about how he wakes up earlier than me and hahaha to me.
So, I drove the stinky, farty mobile today. I put my son in his car seat. I put Power Ranger masks on both of us so that no one would recognize us. And I whisked him away to school.
When we got to the parking lot, I looked around to see if anyone was paying attention to our arrival. No one was. I pulled into a spot. The car made some sort of noise and sputtered when I put it into park and took out the key.
I said, out loud, “OMG. This car is so embarrassing. And it smells!” I continued with my quiet tantrum as I got out of the car and walked over to his door.
My son was listening to my tirade about the mortification this car was causing me.
He looked at me with his two different colored eyes, as I pulled open his car door. And he said, “You know what Mommy?”
“What?” I responded, covering my nose because the gas smell that the car was expelling was causing me to gag.
“Did you know that there are a lot of people that don’t even have a house to live in and they have to live in cars. And then, some of them don’t even have a car so they have to live outside?”
“Um.” Totally bawled out by my ALMOST six year old son, that was the only thing I could mutter.
We walked to his class, hand in hand. I kissed him. Socialized with his teacher for a minute.
And with as much pride as I could muster, I walked to our luxurious, albeit a little on the old, smelly and decrepit side, Cadillac.
Amazed by my kid and how he *gets it*, I gratefully drove the car home.