Summer@Home Day 44 — Meet Diane

Day 44
Yesterday evening, I bought a car. You may be thinking, "That's an odd thing for a person who is legally prohibited from driving to do."

You see, my car died a little while back. You can read her obituary here. Thelma was a good girl and served our family well. But when she breathed her last on the side of Highway 9 in Roswell, we knew that it was not in our future to try to resuscitate her. Again. So we had her towed to No Longer Bound where she is now a member of their "Cars for Recovery" program.

But we leave on vacation on Saturday, and  not too long ago it occurred to us that we would need to rent something to drive. Thelma had always been our go-to girl for family trips. Just last summer we drove to Maine and back with all four boys, our dog, five bikes and three kayaks. Herb's sedan just wouldn't cut it, even with just the boys and dog. So we rented a minivan. For more than $500. 

I almost cried.

Five hundred dollars to rent a car I didn't want? I mean, heck. I couldn't even write it off as an extended test drive. I've decided I'm an SUV girl, not a minivan girl. (Not that there's anything wrong with that.) But that $500 could be put towards a car I really did want.

That pissed me off just a little.

OK. More than a little.




So we started car shopping. And shopping. And shopping. I'd read so many car reviews and spent so much time on AutoTrader.com that I started to itch in weird places and developed a nervous tic.

But yesterday, unexpectedly, the planets aligned. The dealership we popped into almost on a whim had the exact car I wanted for significantly less than I dreamed we could possibly get it for. Hallelujah!

So ... meet Diane. As in "A little ditty ... about Jack and Diane." Herb's car is now Jack.

She's a lot prettier than Thelma was. But in the same way that the teenaged Diane from the John Cougar song is prettier than I — a 41-year-old who's had three c-sections. Diane is fresh and new, but immature.

Unlike Thelma, she doesn't know what it feels like to be thrown up in, peed on, written on in Sharpie, shedded on, cursed at, or abandoned on the side of the road. But she also doesn't have the years of love and care that gives one the strength and fortitude to take what our life will sling at her.

She has a lot of learning to do. Friends of mine have told me that Diane's sisters have aged well and matured gracefully. I hope that her bloodline runs true.

She's got some pretty big shoes to fill.