For many, many years, I was fortunate enough to get where I needed to go via the New York City Subway System. Then came the suburban years which meant having to acquire a car and the headaches began. Here’s the deal– lots of people absolutely love their cars. They get all excited about the latest and greatest add-ons and equipment and so on and so forth. Men, in particular, treat their cars as though they were Vestal Virgins—pious and chaste and beautiful, to be handled with care and oh-so gingerly. I, on the other hand, don’t really care too much about cars. During my “Mom’s Taxi” years, my cars and mini-vans were a catch-all for the boys’ sports equipment, jig shoes and ghillies in various sizes for Oona’s Irish Dancing, changes of clothing, backpacks, the dogs’ toys and lord knows whatever else the kids and their friends left behind!
In my most humble opinion, a car is for the necessity of getting from point “A” to point “B” and points beyond. The most important features in my car need to be a fantastic air conditioning unit because in the summer my hair tends to frizz and great A/C keeps a smooth coif. A good sized mirror is also important because I do a lot of tweezing in that great car lighting. Lastly, I need a good sound system so I can listen to my music whilst driving.
My present car is a Scion and I picked this white model because it reminds me of the Good Humor Ice Cream trucks that I was so fond of when I was a child. (I parked way too close to the bushes because I cannot see out of my right eye. Oops!).
Monsieur Bonaparte, aka, Vincent (and I call him that with love) doesn’t share my feelings when it comes to cars. He always gives me his opinion upon entering my car. He reminded me of this earlier today. We used my car to run some errands and the conversation went something like this.
Vincent (with heavy French accent): “Casseeeee, zis cahr eeez uh mess”. “What eezz zhat smell?”
Me: “No—it isn’t a mess. I don’t smell anything”. “Oh. Wait. That smell is my Starbucks Skinny Chai Latte. It’s been here for four days. It needed to cool off. I’m not done with it yet.”
Vincent” “Oh merde!” “Look at zuh rest of zuh cahr. Zis eez disgusting! “Oh Merde”! “Merde”! “Merde!”
Me: “Ok Monsieur Bonaparte. Can you clean my car then”?
Personally I didn’t think the car was that bad. In my efforts for solidarity, I made a Je Suis Charlie sign and had it in my window until it obstructed my view. I did mean to bring it in the house, but it fell on the floor. That plastic thingy next to it is some sort of cup holder that came with the car. I have some CD’s in that nook over the glove compartment and some CD’s in a case on the floor.
There’s a little nook next to my seat. I keep my essentials in it. Chapstick, tweezers and a few Rolaids. I think there may be a penny in there too. There’s that little island in between my driver seat and passenger seat. I’ve got a broken TJ Maxx rewards card that I keep meaning to put on my key ring—in the meantime it’ll stay put. I’ve got sunglasses that I don’t wear, but if anyone else needs them, they are available. I’m a giver. Attached to that is a compartment with a lid. I have lots of tissues in case I spill my Starbucks, some coupons, and plastic bags in case Chippy has to poop–I’m a model doggie parent. In that little nook inside the passenger door are empty CD cases. I use them to scrape ice off my windshield because I cannot find my scraper. (It may be under a seat).
Chippy’s blanket is spread across the back seat to keep the car clean.
In the way back are various bags for groceries. I’m very ecological. Also in the way back is my father-in-law’s WWII Navy Pea Coat. I keep meaning to get it tailored to fit me, but I haven’t yet gotten around to it. (it’s been there since October).
We have choices in this life. I chose to have a clean home, ironed clothing (yes, I’m an ironing fanatic)and home-cooked meals. Is that so bad? Having a spotless car is not high up on my list of priorities. I do think of others though. Look—I have a “No Texting” magnet on the outside of my car. That little magnet on the outside is far more important than the inside of any car!. Am I right? Doesn’t that make sense? Oh my god, it’s just a car. I cannot stop laughing about this!
In honor of Vincent’s angst in connection with the state of my car, I give you this Lynyrd Skynyrd song—and it just happens to be my favorite Skynyrd tune: “That Smell“. Enjoy this Friday Night!
XOXOXOXOX! …The Starbuck’s Vente Skinny Chai Latte is still in the car!