Let's talk cars.

So I found out through facebook* on Monday morning that the husband was car shopping. While I was at work. Not shopping. So I made a phone call.

Wife-piece: "So did you buy a car?"

The Husband: "Yup."

WP: "Really? That quick???"

TH: "Yup."

WP: "No, you didn't."

TH: "Yes, I did."

WP: "SERIOUSLY??!!!"

TH: "Yup."

Enter extreme jealousy.

Yes, I'm happy for him, but, (in my 4-year old temper tantrum voice) NOT FAIR!! I WANT A NEW CAR!!! And he didn't just buy any car. He bought the EXACT** car I want. And have wanted. For years.

JEA-LOUS.

To be fair, the purchase was warranted. His car basically shit the bed over the past month. And his driver's seat started smoking while he was driving the other night. Literally. Smoke was coming up between his legs. Explain that one.

At least I'll get to drive it occassionally. And have something respectable to use should the need arise for clients to be in my car.

New car is pretty. Very pretty. And loaded with lots of things I know nothing about.



Now husband gets to parade around town, looking all smug in this gorgeous Grand Cherokee***, while I'm shamefully hiding behind my sunglasses in my heap.

This one actually looks pretty. Mine does not. Although mine has lots of nice accessories. Like door dings, scratches, peeling paint, so-foggy-they-do-almost-no-good headlight covers, rust and the ever-stylish giant-ass dent from that time I drove into an unsuspecting mailbox.

My car is old. Well past middle age, slowly nearing death. Getting slightly senile. If I just let it go, it would drive around in circles. Although I can't justifiably blame that on old age. I should probably make a visit to the car doctor to have the alignment, um, realigned.

The inside is a sight. I take such pride in my vehicle that I've opted to turn the backseat into a trash dump. Literally. I have a fullsized garbage bag in the backseat for all the crap I accumulate. And it's full. I haven't cleaned my car out in ages. Since probably the summer.

And today I had a moment of sheer terror at Panera Bread while the overly-cheery counter girl was helping me out with my catering order. I was not expecting this, so I didn't appropriately prep my car. As we're nearing the rear of my vehicle, I'm scrambling to decide which door to open, while she's going on and on about how much she likes my boots (they are pretty fabulous, duh).

Options:

• Backseat? We already know that's out.
• Front passenger seat? Might work. Except for the idiot who parked waytooclose to me. Not enough room to open the door.
• Front driver's seat? Maybe I can get in and have her pile the boxes on my lap. Scratch that. Don't want to be known as the crazy-box-lady at a restaurant I frequent.

So, trunk it is. Oh my God, please please please don't let there be anything embarassing back there. I haven't opened my trunk in weeks. God knows what could be growing in there. PANIC.

Sigh...

False alarm. Nothing in the back except for one random leopard print pump (I've been looking for that) and an umbrella. Crisis averted. Cheery girl leaves, I go back to work. Maybe I should clean out my car.

*Not entirely true. He said the night before that he might go. I, however, found it ironic to find out through fb rather than a phone call. Whatever. Won't kill husband.
**Not entirely true either. I prefer white. Or black. I like to keep it classy.
*** We might need a Jeep intervention. I'm driving an '01, he just traded in an '04 for the new one and he used to own an older one. On second thought, Jeep should be paying us for our loyalty****.
****Please forward post to Jeep top-dogs.