So, I really do love my husband. Honestly. Sometimes I just wonder how old he is.
We’ve been shopping for a car for a while now. “We” sold our Durango (AKA the-one-big-enough-to-hold-our-whole-family) last fall. And by “we”, I mean I got a phone call while I was at work telling me that Steve had listed it on a website that morning, and someone was coming to look at it. I literally passed it being driven away by its new owner on my way home that day.
Since then, we’ve been doing what we can to save our money for a nice, reasonable used car, and haven’t gone anywhere as a family since we can’t all fit in his commuter car. My requirement? An SUV, with three rows. We have four kids, after all, and having room for them to spread out (plus take along an extra kid or two if the situation arises) is all that really mattered to me. Steve’s requirement? A diesel-fueled vehicle, for more pulling power and longevity. (This is the part where I mention that I average about 3K miles per year on my primary vehicle. That’s not a typo.)
We started seriously looking a couple of months ago, and about three weeks ago “we” bought this for “my” car:
So NOT an SUV. Also, I can’t see over the hood when I’m standing next to it, just to give you a little perspective on the size. (And neither can Steve, so I hope it never breaks down anywhere except at home where we have a ladder.) I also can’t get in without using the handle, or out gracefully, in any interpretation of the word. And I definitely won’t be wearing a skirt any time I have to ride in it.
Good thing I love him, huh?
(He also bought himself a new dirt bike while I was out of town this week, but I might have had a bit of fun shopping and getting pedicures with my sisters, mom, and grandma, so I guess it all evens out.)