The Lie: We don’t need a new car. I like the car we have now.
The Truth: I hate the car we have now. Its color is “eggplant” (i.e. somewhere on the uninspiring continuum between purple and brown), and it smells like plastic and old milk. I hated it when my dad bought it twelve years ago, I hated it when he began to realize that he hated it, and I hated it even more when he offered to sell it to me, confident that I couldn’t afford to say no. At the time, Olivia was three and Troy was gestating, and a Subaru wagon made a lot more sense than my rapidly deteriorating Jeep. I’d do anything to have the Jeep back… or to have another Jeep… or any other car, really, particularly one that’s never contained a child’s car-seat, because once a car-seat has resided in a vehicle for more than six months, said vehicle will forever and inexplicably smell like plastic and old milk.
Sadly, my mechanic assures me that the Subaru is in fundamentally good shape, so I can look forward to several more years, at least, of feeling both emasculated and nauseated anytime I drive anywhere.