Failure of the Day: The Momentous Shopping

2006 is the year. February is the month. I am many, many years late and significantly behind the curve. I genuinely expected to reach 40 without ever having done this. I genuinely expected that I would never do this. (Oh for chrissake, not that.)

I’m buying a car. A new car, and my first ever. And I'm not even 39 and a half yet.

Chris’s beloved 11-year-old Jetta is just about ready to go to the farm and frolic with the other Jettas that can’t live with their families anymore. It served us well over the years; it never even held a grudge against him for making it wear that horrible Grateful Dead sticker on its back window, although it would have been well within its rights.

Having determined it was time for new car, I began the shopping. I’m good at shopping; it’s one of those suburban Jewish girl things that no amount of subcultural lifestyle ever really rids one of. Chris loathes the car shopping and buying process, experienced as he is in the terribleness of the salesmen and The Little Room. But he hates talking to strangers under the best of circumstances, let alone when it’s someone whom you are fairly certain is picking your pocket every time you turn your head.

I am convinced it can’t be That Bad. What I’ve seen of it so far, which is mostly playing with “add options and price your vehicle” functions on the various manufacturers’ web sites, has been pretty cool. I am disappointed, though, that one cannot shop for cars by color, because that really would save me a lot of time. I have learned that not very many cars come in green, and of the ones that do, none are emphatically green. I can’t imagine why that is.

I'm petrified to drive of course. We're getting an automatic transmission so I can drive it if need be—the manual transmission in the Jetta requires WAY more coordination than I can muster. But that’s the thing: it dawned on me this month that one of the reasons I’ve driven a car 3 times in the last 15 years (and 2 of those times were in an empty parking lot with Chris screaming CLUTCH! CLUTCH!) is that driving is something that one does with one’s arm and legs, and I don’t trust my arms and legs for shit.

When we finally pick the one we want, and go get it and take it home, I will almost certainly be beside myself with excitement and joy, as I am in general about the gobsmackingly surprising turn my life has taken over these last few months and years. But for everyone's sake, be very glad that I'm only in charge of the shopping and Chris does the driving.