Have they made hovercrafts yet?

I’m not a fancy gal, nor do I try to be. I buy pants at Walmart and happily welcome when my hands turn blue from touching them to get the oh-so-appealing price of $10. I don’t buy new bras until the wires are stabbing me and I’m just about due for a tetanus booster. I don’t poor my beers into the glass they give you at restaurants on a first date. Okay, so maybe I’m a little less “not fancy” and a little more “cheap”, but either way, these two descriptors converge when it comes to cars.

Materialism is something that I just don’t have time for. I’d rather get to know someone for who they are than what they look like. The Lady in Red, my 1997 ford escort (pictured below) is sheer perfection by standards of that statement. Everything about this car screamed “impound lot”, but having had another escort as my first car, leaped at the chance to take this sweet girl home. Rusty? Yes. Fluorescent? You betcha. Not suitable for people with long legs and/or who are over the height of 5’ 6’’? Absolutely. But a cheap, savvy vehicle that I never lost in a parking garage or had more fun in made it all worth it.  We spent almost three beautifully expensive, yet hilarious years together before some lameo floored it into me at a stop sign. Boom. Totaled.

So it’s goodbye to my Lady in Red and hello to whatever hunk of metal I man up and purchase. I entertained the idea of this sports-y car and I felt like a toddler sitting in a milk crate while I was driving it.  By antithesis, I tested the modern- tomboy-soccer-mom van/SUV that was the equivalent of driving a 15 passenger van. I actually think my voice echoed when I told my dad that it drove nicely. It seemed a little excessive and I seemed to be about 3 business suits, 4 kids and a white collar husband shy of being an appropriate owner of it. About two weeks later, I found who I shall here forward refer to as “White mocha”. A Passat I found in town that has an incredible price, especially with the insurance money The Lady in Red afforded me. Even better, this thing is extremely reliable but with high mileage on it, adding an element of possible danger that I think I find endearing about cars. I’m naming it White Mocha, because just like me, at first glance you know I’m white, but you can probably tell I have a bit of flavor in there somewhere (KIDDING). White Mocha is probably white, but also very possibly tan. I think we will get along great.

Some added bonuses about White Mocha that The Lady in Red fell short on:

-The color, though I will get to play the insanity inducing yet delightful game of “where the hell did I park in this massive parking garage”, I can now go unnoticed if I want to because White Mocha won’t literally glow in the dark

-Electrical windows. I won’t have to add an extra element of danger and stretch across my car to crank the window up or down while still stepping on the break. On a related note, I won’t have to have a passenger roll down the window and push on the mirror to adjust it.

-I won’t risk getting clipped by new-to-driving youths in parking lots because White Mocha is proportionally wide and long. Not a pontoon boat.

Maybe I am getting fancier in my age. Nah, who am I kidding. I give it two months before I find some tacky quality in the car and run with it, or get it painted bright red.

The moral of the story, kids is to go by feel rather than style. Just because it looks cool, doesn’t mean you won’t have to frantically search parking garages, risk getting into the wrong, unlocked car, or have to hoist your six-foot tall friend out of the car after going to Wendy’s. If you immediately buy the world’s tackiest car based on how you like driving in it, the memories will create themselves and your friends won’t think you’re a douche for having a super nice car.

The Lady and I headed back to school just before graduation