“You’re a strange one, Vicki.”
“Gee, thanks. What’s so strange about not wanting to buy a new car?”
“You drive a ‘ghettomobile’ and you’re asking why it’s strange not to want a new car?”
“I like my van. We’ve spent a lot of time together.”
“It’s time to let it go.” Chris patted my hand. I would think that he was showing me sympathy, except I knew better. He was on a mission.
“We can just get it fixed,” I suggested.
“If you had all the money you’ve spent in the last year getting the van fixed, you could have paid off a new car already. The mechanic wants $1800 to fix this latest problem. Do you really plan to spend that much on a 10-year-old van?”
I hate it when he uses logic on me when I’m being emotional. I stuck out my tongue at him.
“Besides, you get like...10 miles per gallon?”
“No,” I answered forcefully. “I get nearly 15 miles per gallon.”
He nodded. “I can see why you wouldn’t want to get rid of it, then.”
Sarcasm now. I rolled my eyes.
“I suppose you like the mustard yellow liquid that drips onto the passenger seat, too.” He was going for the jugular now. I felt…pain.
I had to be honest, though. I really did not appreciate the whatever-it-was that was leaking into the passenger side of the van. “Not so much,” I admitted warily.
“And what are you going to do when your van finally dies and you’re stranded on I85 coming home from work? At night. When it’s dark. And cold. What if I’m out of town and I can’t come get you?”
I put my hands over my ears and started humming a little tune. “Did you say something?”
“I worry about you. You need a reliable car, Vic.”
“I’m fine,” I assured him. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
|My 2012 Hyundai Elantra. It sure is small!|