Last week our car exploded.
Well. It kind of sort of exploded on the inside and there was shrapnel and stuff got blasted. I don’t know about cars, I’m just telling you what they told me. All I know is that I was driving him [his name was Fritz] home from work and what started as a whistle was a grinding metal-on-metal symphony by the time I go to my parents’ house 7 minutes from school.
So my husband and I continued in our learning-how-to-be-grownups saga. We went to dealerships, did lots of math calculations, talked to people who know about cars, and got a car loan. It was very exciting and took all day yesterday and mostly consisted of driving and waiting in offices and feeling stressed out.
When we test-drove our new car it was immediately our favorite and we brought it to my parents’ house for dad to examine too. Everyone agreed it was the best option. It has sparkly white paint and all-wheel-drive and is a Subaru Legacy with turbo.
It has a 6-CD changer. We made special CDs last night.
I tried not to drive too-too fast to school this morning. It was hard. Did I mention that the dashboard lights work? And the gas-pump? And the radio? We really upgraded.
And, even though my husband accuses me of sabotaging Fritz because I “never truly loved him and just wanted a car with four-doors” I feel a little bit nostalgic. He was a nice little car with tinted windows and lots of character. We will miss him. But not when we’re pumping gas.