This morning as I woke under my soft cotton sheets and rubbed my feet together I would have told you quite the opposite. “My car is just a car.” (smug shrug)
“I just use it to get around. I don’t need anything fancy just something with wheels that can get me from place to place.” (nose in the air)
But now, hours after finishing my cereal and taking my shower, I realized that my car is in fact… a trash can.
As I ventured out into the uncharacteristically tropic weather to “straighten up” my vehicle I realized that I have never actually had a normal relationship with a car. At least not a healthy one.
I’ve never felt right owning anything other than an old “bubble car” – you know, the type that looks the same no matter what company makes it, the kind that you’ll still be able to buy if all the american car companies go down because they have all the same parts as the toyota corolla…That kind of car. I have no idea why either…Why make a face at the nice sturdy old Audi that Andrew found a month ago that was in our price range? Why scoff at BMWs?
I’m the kind of person who never drives people anywhere because there is never enough room for another person to fit in my car. My normal excuse for this is, “my car’s a wreck.” When really it just looks like I’m living out of my car. (most of you are starting to get worried at this point. those of you who know me are laughing)
My last car was a Chevy Prism, black with bald and rusting spots on top, a manual with stains on the seats from an coke bottle that had exploded one hot summer day. I drove the car for a year with the engine light on and both of the inside door handles broken off. (don’t ask me how I got out or how I made it home) His name was Biff the Bruiser.
My father-in-law, bless his heart, gave Andrew and me a car in September 2008 that quickly replaced Biff. It’s a nice Toyota Avalon, brown, my first automatic and with heated seats – nothing a cop would want to pull over. I call him “Papa Bear”. I tried to keep him clean and clear out of respect for my new family but I have to say, as we all know, that old habits die hard and yesterday as I was driving to the post office spilling a handful of cheese curls I noticed that the car might need a cleaning.
This is what I found: (please feel free to laugh at this point – you know I am)
1 bag of stale dollar store Cheese Curls.
1 spool of ribbon. Please tell me why? I still can’t remember a time or a reason that I needed that in my car.1 full bag of really old chic-a-fila. Most of the items I found were food. Pregnant anyone?
1 disposable coffee cup.And 8….count ’em if you don’t believe me….glasses. (my friends and family joke that if you can’t find any mugs or glasses in your house, chances are they are all in Val’s car)All this along with 1 umbrella, 1 broom, 1 empty bag of gold fish, one partially emptied bag of homemade trail mix, 10 ants, numerous receipts, countless pieces of worthless papers, 1 Nemo treat bag, 1 empty mint case, 2 registration stickers for Pennsylvania stuck to a piece of blue tape, 1 tupperware container (if you’re missing one of yours let me know. it’s not mine.), 1 doggy car harness we used for 5 minutes and millions of crumbs.
Are there meetings for this? Should I be saying something like, “Hello. My name is Valerie and I have a trash car.” Is there a 12 step program or a nice cottage where I can go and recover from this? Or is this normal?
Please share your dirty car stories…next time we’ll talk about my purse. Eh!
In other news: My nephew Joey still laughs hysterically when anyone says “trash can”. I don’t know why but I still laugh when I remember him saying “S— down” instead of “sit down”. Words are funny.