This week I may have gone ahead and accidentally bought myself a new car. And by accidentally, I mean with lightly clouded over denial that I was going to just go take a look. And by bought myself, I mean signed myself into 72 months of working harder.
However, despite the moment when I woke up this morning with a sense of “what have I done!” I am very excited, and it spurs a feeling in me that balances somewhere between being a mature and fully capable independent woman and being an impulsive and immature young lady who “deserves” this.
When I was 19 years old I spent $500 and bought a 1982 Chevy Chevette and within 2 months, I lost control on a slippery winter overpass and ping ponged off the sides, subsequently writing off said first car, that was a piece of garbage to begin with, but it was my piece of garbage.
At 20, I woke up one day and decided I’d go buy a new car. I had more disposable income than brains at that point, and was single and young and knew everything, and decided that I would head on into the dealership and “take a look”. That look basically was me saying “Hi, I want to buy a car now please” and the salesman saying “have I got a deal for you!” Two days later I was approved and signed a 5 year loan at God only knows what interest rate, and drove away my new car. It was 1 year old. So pretty darn new! A green, two-door VW Golf and it was mine and I loved it!
Years and life moved on and that little car became a family car and we drove it to San Francisco when my son was two and a half, and basically everywhere we went. Relationships, new places, new career and new jobs and that golf was a constant, and a very worthwhile car and a worthwhile investment. Once we were a family of four, however, a two door hatchback became a less than ideal way to transport car seats and a dog and a stroller and groceries, and all the things that come along with that new life status and we sold my long since paid for car to a nice young couple for a pretty fair price.
In having a family and a house and all the trappings (although they are not trappings….but also they are trappings…) our money and life and all the moving parts were as one. My husband and I started sharing money basically the second we moved in together and there was no division of mine and yours – his and hers. All was ours. He had a vehicle (the”work” vehicle), I had a vehicle (the “family” vehicle) and I moved into a small SUV (where he taught me to drive standard) then to a VW Passat wagon (Still standard, thank you very much!) that was the perfect, dog, kid, luggage, costco, car and I liked it…he loved it. I learned that I am not qualified or “do not deserve” to have “nice rims” and “low profile tires”. Which sounds far crueler than it was…I don’t care about that shit…car guy husband cares about that shit. I did not want these perks or treat them with respect (did I mention that I don’t care about that shit?)
Time marched on and the marriage grew and changed and the kids grew and changed and I grew and changed. We sold the 5 year starter house (and by 5 year, I mean 13) and bought the forever house…until it wasn’t..and we separated (a longer and unnecessary story for another time and place).
I moved on with the Passat and he had the work truck and things progressed and evolved and much ado about everything; and the world as we knew it changed and broke and fixed and settled. And as I believe that we all get to create the marriage rules we want, and the life that we decide works for us; we too have developed a divorce situation that is unconventional and a tad hard to understand for onlookers, and perhaps riddled with unhealthy boundaries that have gotten better over these few years. But as one weird little tidbit, we continued to share money for the whole first year of our separation. He lives in the house, I live in an apartment, the kids live in the house, we have joint things; it made sense and we just budgeted it all in and it was fine. Then we decided that some strings needed cut and some “independence” achieved, so we separated our income and personal bills, but remained paying equal shares of the house, and bills specific to the house. I took on daughter’s braces and son’s dance. He had all the house groceries. No need to get into all the nuances…it worked.
On the night of my son’s 16th birthday, Dad was in Mexico and I was rushing home from work to literally get that party started and basically evacuate the house with little sister so son could have a party “alone” for at least a few hours; and I crashed my beloved Passat wagon. Drama. Crying. Calling very new (current!) boyfriend. Calling Ex in Mexico. Being treated very lovingly by police and the man I crashed with…possibly due to said crying and drama. The car was a write off. The party still went down and was apparently “epic” and wonderful (so, yay) but that night was pretty much complete and utter mishap after mishap for me.
Then the silver lining came when I found a new teeny tiny hatchback literally down the street from my place, for sale, and it was paid for with the insurance money (which took a month to come but I had a brand new VW Golf to drive in the meantime and that was amazing!) This “new” hatchback allowed us to cut one more string of our financial and marital ties, and get the car fully in my name, under my own insurance, and completely separate from the “family” car I’d had in the passat; so, perhaps it was a weird way to go about it, but the universe (or whatever) works in mysterious ways.
When I got this new teeny tiny car I felt free again. Something I had picked! Something just mine. (Standard too, hooray!) but it was also very base model and 14 years old and I said I would drive it for 2 or 3 years and not really put any work into it and buy a new car (Preferably a VW Tiguan) when braces and dance were done.
Time went on. Everyone settled into this unconventional divorce program we’ve devised. Kids are good. New boyfriend is the best thing ever to grace my presence (that didn’t come out of my body) and he moved in and round and round we go as I continue to obsess over Tiguans and say “next spring a new car!” Braces end. Dance ends. Covid lockdown and unemployment happen. Next spring a new car!!
Son now needs braces; “But My New CAR!” Son agrees to split cost of braces with me (love!). Finances still not split; still both paying half of the house and the house bills. Its fine…but it’s also not fine. Morally and for the everlasting love of my “baby daddy”; it’s fine. For the “my kids live there” and “whatever; if it’s not broke don’t fix it”; its fine. But forever and for independence and for my new love and a future house… and for MY NEW CAR, it’s not “fine”. But it is the unconventional relationship and way of being that is now and working…
So I put the new car next spring in my pocket and research and look at comparable models to not just put all my eggs in the VW basket. I look at colors and warranties and tell myself that maybe a 2016 or a 2018 model will be possible. I think about how I haven’t had a car loan since my sweet green Golf. How I haven’t drove an automatic in a decade (beyond that month with a rental car). And I say I need to stop thinking and wishing and hoping and looking at car ads and I’ll get a new car next spring. Then this Wednesday I had a couple hours and figured I just peek into the VW dealership…the same VW dealership I peeked into at 20 years old (although it’s moved locations slightly in the past 22 years).
I wandered the lot, seeking the Tiguan I knew I wanted. I popped inside and feigned interest and maybe a test drive. Whatever, I mean, I’m in the market next spring….Then 2 hours later I am signing some paper work and negotiating extras and working out my down payment and monthly plan for my BRAND NEW 2020 Tiguan (0%) that I am having brought in because I want the frigging Petroleum Blue and the two toned seats! I stew over the price and warranty and the undercoat and ask my sweetheart and my ex and my accountant friend all for opinions and what to do.
Then in the morning I realize that I can do what I want to do! I can get the car I choose! I can pay what I want and sign my own friggin money over to my own exorbitantly priced (and coveted for 2 years) car, that I chose and I will pay for!
I get to be 20 again and an impulsive and immature young lady, but at the same time, I get to be a 42 year old capable and independent woman who hardly lives to excess and does the best I can to be both good and supportive and live within her means at all times. I won’t be so trite as to say that I “deserve” a new car; because I don’t sign in to that way of thinking. But I can say that as freaked out as I am about having a sudden car payment, and debt that was intended for “next spring” (hint, next spring never comes…) I feel elated that I get to have a car that is mine and that I picked and that I will drive for presumably 15 plus years or more (even if it is sadly not standard).
As a cool and amazing twist, my nearly 18 year old son will drive me to the dealership to get my car next week, in a car that he bought himself (and luckily has not crashed in any way).
As an aside; I listed my teeny tiny hatchback and apparently I really under priced it because I have a buyer (and three on a wait list) and I’ve had to delete the ad and turn several more away! I should have been greedier and asked more…but much like fancy rims, I don’t care about that stuff, and the proceeds will just sit in the bank for my daughter’s first car…things go around in good ways like that. At least that’s how I see it. The universe (or whatever).
Periscopecake 