How We Roll

I kept the inevitable at bay for two years. I’m proud of that record. Polar ice might have melted more slowly thanks to my diligence.

That’s all over now; last weekend we bought our first car.

Renate has been ready since our first Chicago winter, and I have stalled like a champ. Trouble started brewing when my mother-in-law agreed to oversee a semester-abroad program in Germany this fall. Sensing opportunity, Renate selflessly volunteered to babysit her Mazda Protege.

It’s a pleasant, responsible car; four doors, roomy trunk, solid pickup on the highway. The radio knob is missing, a reminder that our three-year-old nephew was here.

“You know we won’t want to go back to not having one,” Renate informed me a few weeks after we drove the car from Muncie.

I’ve spent the last year shedding things, and I loathed the idea of making monthly payments, examining scratched bumpers, ignoring clanking noises under the hood, shelling out for gas.

But I sure didn’t mind driving to Target.

“We’d like a sedan,” we told the salesman at the Hyundai lot. “Nothing too big. A compact, probably.”

It sounded nice; an economical, efficient, environmentally-friendly step into ownership. Renate’s only deal-breaker for a smaller car was that it not sound like a wind-up toy. Also, it needed an intimidating horn.

But then irrationality stepped in.

“What’s that?” Renate pointed at a mini-SUV near the dealership door.

“Nice, huh?” the salesman said. “Woman traded that in last week for a Santa Fe.” He was still standing next to the Hyundai Accent that fit our initial specs.

“I kind of like it,” Renate said to me.

I concurred.

You know how it ends.

Our new (used) car comes with a collapsible table where the spare wheel should be. There’s a drawer under the passenger seat. The previous owner left a pet harness in the back and Johnny Cash’s 16 Biggest Hits in the CD player.

Clearly we got our money’s worth.