I'm not really keen on searching for a new vehicle, but it's that time again. Somehow, in what seems a quick flash forward... my son went from playing with matchbox cars to driving a real one. It was so much easier when he was younger. I could just stroll into Wal Mart, pick up a few shiny metallic sports cars, a truck or two, maybe an army tank, with nobody pestering me to take a test drive, fill out loan papers, or practically have to sell my soul for what I really want. Best of all, I could be in and out of Wal Mart in 10 minutes with at least five vehicles my son would drool over for under seven bucks. Now, keep in mind he still drools over the vehicles...it's just that they are a tad bit more then $1.49 each. Mustang convertibles, Corvettes, Chargers? Hahahahaha!I guess him getting his grandma's old Ford Escort isn't looking as exciting anymore.
So we have a conundrum you see. Hubby would kill to have some sort of super-duper, sporty, fire engine red "man" car for himself...and pass down his own car (which is quite lovely and completely unembarrassing) to our son. "I" would like a Jeep Wrangler...a sporty, lifted, cool, "get out of my way I'm on a mission to shop" car. My son, well...he would like anything with a loud engine that costs over $20,000 it seems.
But I think I win.
Because if Momma isn't happy...ain't no one happy.
Hubby is being a dear, but I see the longing in him as he passes the convertibles, a glint in his eye as he hears the roar of a Viper, sense a spike in testosterone as his hand lingers on the hood of a Porsche. My son, well...he has decided that he would rather drive Dad's car then be caught dead in his Nanie's senior-mobile.
But now...the used car lots...eh. The car salesmen look desperate. They practically trip over themselves to get to you before you can get out of your own car. They loom, circle, poised with shiny keys, waving you over to their "best deal" while grinning almost manically, smelling of too much aftershave, hair balm, and Armor All. I've had enough before I've walked 3 paces.
So..you go the personal sales route. But who knows what you end up with...or worse, where you have to find it. I do not want to travel 30 miles to Bubba Bill's Farm and walk across a field of petrified dog poo, only to be taken back to some old green shed with an unhinged door to find his "pride and glory" is a souped up school bus. I'm not buying it.
The entire process is a migraine in the making. However, I do have another promising vehicle on the horizon. And I do know that it passes the test...how? Because my son just offered to give up the next 3 Christmases and 5 birthdays if I'd consider buying it for him instead. Not only that, but my husband clasped his hands together in glee, grinning like a fool after he drove it.
Now...if I could just get it for $1.49.
