So, I got a new car this weekend.
You may note the lack of exclamation point at the end of that statement. It's not that I don't like it--I do! My husband did a great job of researching and picking it out. It's just that I really don't like change. Even good changes give me pause at first.
I've had my old car for seven years. I got this car when Sophie was just a baby and I feel like it is part of my family. Or at least a part of my identity. I'm a station wagon driver. I'm a Saab owner.
Well, I was.
I admit, it was time to move on. The old car was getting up there in miles. I was starting to develop an over-developed sense of worry about it. Is something vibrating?! Do I detect a noise?
But, the biggest indicator was the morning I realized that my car almost caught my dress on fire. You see, I am always cold and use my seat heaters all the time. I mean, every month of the year with the exception of July (and sometimes then too, like if I've just had a really cold drink while I'm driving.) In recent months, my leather seats were starting to pull apart at the seams and one morning that I wasn't wearing tights, I could feel that the heating element in the seat was starting to get exposed. On another morning, my car was filled with the smell of something burning, which I quickly realized was the fabric of my dress. I was still cold, so I just turned it down to low to avoid any conflagrations.
Even at seven, Sophie was able to realize that a new car was imminent, if not necessary. After picking her up from school one afternoon, she asked, "Mom! Why does it smell like burnt toast in your car?"
"Oh, that's just the seat heater singing my clothes," I replied.
"You really need a new car," she sighed in reply.
Yes, it's probably for the best.