How a lemon car can teach you that your marriage needs more spice
We bought a brand spankin’ new car last week.
Before you send your congratulations, know that this was like those “Oops!” pregnancies and our purchase was unplanned. I am not quite sure how it happened; I wasn’t even ovulating at the time.
From the moment of
conception purchase a few years ago, we have had problems with my husband Jamie’s Jetta. But the past month has been a non-stop stream of breakdowns. The car, not me. Mostly.
We had planned to trade it in next year but we were stressed about all the nickles, dimes and dollars we were pouring into its repairs. The worst part of all is the mechanic could not ascertain the problem.
And so we had a tough decision: sustenance for the children or a new car.
Please send food.
I have never made a huge decision so quickly. Well, with the exception of buying the first wedding dress I tried on and oh, can you please throw in that cute veil ASAP because I am late for my volleyball game? Or the fact that I was married within six months of meeting Jamie.
He gives me a hard time about the deluge of children’s items that flood my SUV but nothing could have prepared me for what we discovered when we cleaned out his car.
One could expect some fast-food wrappers.
Several discarded Google maps.
Or maybe a rotting food item…or twelve.
But what Jamie unearthed in the catacombs of his trunk rocked me to my core: an illustrated book entitled The Joy of Sensual Massage.
After drowning in a stupor of silence, I finally sputtered,
“Who gave you this this this this this PORNOGRAPHY?”
“You did. When we got married.”