I love my car. Somewhat irrationally, really. It is small, gets decent gas mileage, and handles like I want a car to handle. It also happens to be 16 years old. The Family actually has two vehicles, both of which are getting up there in years (the “new” vehicle is 11 years old). Alice seems to sense that one or both of them could be on its way out. I’m not sure what her clue was. The little rust spots? The time the window got stuck down? In the rain? Well, whatever tipped her off, she has clearly been thinking about moving on. Saturday afternoon, she inquired, “Mom? Dad? When you give away the car and the truck, can we get a convertible? Convertibles are fancy!”
Pardon me? Several things strike me about this uttering:
- I sure as hell am not putting my beloved child in a death trap. Sorry, Alice. Life isn’t fair (this will not be the last time I say this).
- When it is time to say goodbye to our vehicles, we will not be giving them away. Certainly she knows we need the $75…
- Fancy? What does a four-year old know about fancy? When you are four, sparkles are fancy. Cupcakes are fancy. Gruyère on your mac & cheese is fancy. But cars? Convertibles?
You’re killing me, Kidling. Let’s keep fancy cars off the radar for another few (dozen) years, okay?