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••• Thursday, July 24, 2003

My husband gave me some startling news yesterday. On some level I knew it was coming, but also held to the smallest hope that there would be a happier ending. But it is not to be. The hour of truth is upon me.

The lease on my car has expired and it has to go.

So what. It's just a hunk of metal (are cars still made of metal?). But it's my hunk of metal and I can't explain how or why, but I get attached to my cars.

Several years ago, I fell into the "lease trap." I was newly divorced, had just bought my own home, started a new job 15 miles away and my car was getting old. At this same time, my sister and her four small children had moved in with me and my young son. She was in the process of rebuilding a broken life, had recently rejoined the work force and had no car.

I needed a new car, she needed my old car (I'm no saint, the car borrowing was getting old). So I sold my car to her on time, which meant I had no cash for a down payment on a new one. The lease mongers, however, were offering 0% down. And that's how it started.

To me, a car is a personal thing. It contains bits and pieces of my life. It's my singing studio. My think tank. My decompensation zone. It also contains a plethora of personal DNA (I watch a lot of Law & Order). Under my carseat are petrified french fries, ink pens, nicorette gum containers, crumpled "Hello My Name is" tags, and maybe a few secrets. There's still ice cream on the radio console from the time I thought I could safely drive a five-speed while eating an ice cream cone (all was fine until I had to make an emergency shift to third gear). And I've been trusting my butt daily to that driver's seat for three years.

I don't give my butt daily to just anyone. It's personal. Intimate.

I'm in a better financial place today than I was when I hopped on the bloodsucking lease carousel. My husband promises that my next car will be purchased. It will be mine until I say it ain't.

Tonight I took my baby out for a final spin. I opened the windows and sunroof. I cranked the Cranberries, in tribute to Subarus present and past. Here and gone.

In preparation for the ::gasp:: severance, we had the cracked windshield fixed today. The windshield-fixer-man came right to the house... a-ringin' the doorbell. I answered the door, gave him the keys and couldn't help from wondering why he didn't exactly ever look at me.

I made a joke about the mess in the car, but he didn't laugh and didn't look, still. 30 minutes later, he came to the door for a signature, handed me the keys and left. Not long after, I went into the bathroom. I saw my reflection in the mirror. It went something like this.

Please note that I don't typically carry a camera around with me. Just moments before this cosmetic "awakening" I was trying to catch my baby girl doing something adorable, so the digital was handy. I took the shot myself. Not bad, eh? While initally mortified at my reflection, I couldn't help but smile to think of the story this guy will be telling at tonight's dinner table.

Okay Pig, Let's get to some Knitting
Understandably, I've been on an emotional brink all day. What better comfort is there than clicking through the miraculous world of internet yarn shopping? I've been eyeing this Mission Falls Carnaby Turtle for a time. Unless it's travelling at a turtle's pace, it should be knocking at the door within the 7-10 days.

I'm feeling better already.

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# posted by Marcia @ 10:59 PM


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