Hubs has never been what you would call "into cars." Now, he likes cars, as opposed to say having to walk everywhere, but he has never been the type of guy who would point out a Ford Mustang or a Grand Prix, or a BMW for that matter.
He has also been the type of husband who always ended up with the hand-me-down vehicle. Either I hand the old family car down to him when we purchase a new one, or someone else does when they trade theirs in at the used car lot. His last car was a used Toyota Camry with engine light issues which, at the time, I believed to be the beater.
I. Had. No. Idea.
When we moved to Smalltown nearly three years ago, we sold the Camry and drove out here in one vehicle, our (my, ahem) new Honda Pilot. It is always easier to make a cross country move in one vehicle and Hubs decided when we arrived in Smalltown that he would buy another beater that he would sell when we left Smalltown.
Once we settled into our home, we went car shopping. We visited the used lots at the Toyota and Ford dealers. None of them were within Hubs' price range which really meant that they were all still running. I kept trying to persuade him to spend a little more so we could have a warranty, but he was convinced that he could find the perfect (or imperfect) car for him that he would simply sell when we left town. After all, he only needed it to get him to and from work.
That's when we met Rusty.
Rusty is the nicest and most honest used car salesman I have ever met. He even plays Christian radio in his showroom. Granted, his showroom also has one crusty old coffee pot with sugar packets from 1984 and a small upholstered chair that may or may not have been in a nursing home visitation area.
I'm just sayin.'
We met Rusty when the dealer down the road told us that Rusty is the man he sells his unsellables to when they can't get them off the lot. Let that sink in for a minute.
Rusty's used car lot, known as Car City, sits on the edge of town. There are slightly dinged pick-ups and compact cars scattered on the lot, along with a huge family of prairie dogs who peep up out of their holes at sunset next to white wall tires and bent fenders.
Praire dogs aside, Rusty found a car that met Hubs' standards. It was (somewhat) reliable, it had four tires, a steering wheel, a windshield (with a crack) and most of all, it was cheap.
Let's make a deal.
We did and Hubs drove away from Car City in a Dodge Intrepid, well, once the cracked windshield was replaced.
Since that fateful day, the Dodge IsCrepid, has leaked oil, made strange transmission noises, yet has managed to get Hubs to and from work, fulfilling its purpose, adding a new spin on the Purpose Driven Life series.
It has also been my nemesis.
Because we all know that no matter how much you say that a vehicle will only be driven by one family member in order to get them from Point A to Point B and back, it is part of Murphy's Law that the secondary driver (me) will someday have to go to Albertson's while the vehicle's primary driver (Hubs) takes Daughter to horseback riding in the secondary driver's very comfortable Honda Pilot.
Now I know what you are thinking. Why can't the primary driver (Hubs) take Daughter to horseback riding in the Dodge? I'll tell you. It's because the secondary driver doesn't want her kid stranded in the country.
It's a Mother's Love.
I climbed in the Dodge yesterday to head to Albertson's and just as I started the engine, Hubs ran up along side me motioning for me to roll down the window. As I did, the window went down slowly with a squeal and a squeak.
Hubs reached in the car and said,"The turn signal doesn't work. It broke off."
"Broke off?" I said,"I can't drive this. It isn't safe."
"Yeah, you can, just stick your arm out like this to turn right and like this to turn left."
I rolled me eyes and rolled up the window. SQUEAK. SQUEAL.
Then headed to Albertson's, remembering all the arm motions I learned in Driver's Ed, and praying for a miracle that perhaps if I lingered in the deli long enough someone would steal the Dodge and drive it away.
A girl can dream.
All the while, Hubs and Daughter safely and comfortably drove to horseback riding lessons in the Honda Pilot. My Honda Pilot. With my new Elton John CD.
So if you ever see a white Intrepid with Florida plates and a small ding on the rear bumper, feel free to drive it away. I left the keys in the ignition for you. Just make sure you remember to stick your arm out of the window when you make that right turn next to Car City.
And while you're sitting at the stop sign, wave to the prairie dogs for me.