If only he had gotten directions

Once again, a man has been foiled by his refusal to get directions. Greg and I have toyed with the idea of getting a new car for a while because my car is 11 years old (But oh, how I love my car. Yes, she is boring and unglamorous, but I can always count on her.). We’ve had problems securing Eleanor’s car seat because my car doesn’t have the latch system that newer cars have, so Greg sent me out yesterday to start shopping.

We’d done some research and decided what I would test drive. I would start with the lower priced cars and then work my way up. I was sure that if I started with a luxury vehicle that everything after that would be disappointing.

I was going to test a Prius, and Greg told me the Toyota dealership was down a certain road, just before a restaurant we occasionally eat at. I drove down the road and passed the restaurant but never saw the dealership. I drove a little farther until I was sure I wasn’t going to see the dealership.

At this point, I was 10 miles from home. I don’t get out of the house much by myself anymore, so I wasn’t about to squander my freedom. I had to drive something. I knew there was a Lexus dealership a few blocks over. The Lexus was the last car on my list, the thing I was supposed to drive after everything else. But Greg had instructed me to “have fun” as I left the house. Hmm, a Lexus? That was fun.

I should mention here that Greg and I come from the some of the most frugal, practical families in the U.S. My Dad (who drives a 13-year-old car) thinks that power windows are a luxury item. What would he make of my test-drive vehicle, with its keyless entry and air-conditioned seats? This was an alien spacecraft by his standards.

These practical tendencies are pretty deeply ingrained in Greg and I. But every once in a while, we get this urge to rebel (Neither of us rebelled as teenagers, so we have to make up for that). And this car went against everything our families stand for. It was so smooth and supple and elegant. It felt like a womb on wheels.

When I got home, I asked Greg whether he had actually looked up the location of the Toyota dealership before I went out. No, he hadn’t. He had told me based on memory. I reminded him that I’m the one with the memory.

Greg finally found a fix for Eleanor’s car seat this morning, so the car search is off for now. And that’s a good thing, I suppose. If that car was at the bottom of the list, then I guess the Mercedes and Porsche were next.