Well, you may have gathered that I bought a new car, trading in my posh-but-getting-to-be-troublesome German sports car for a brand-new Honda mini-van just in time for the winter.
Friends' reactions ran the gamut from utter dismay to disbelief, but I love it.
Just two days after I bought it, I was at a Christmas party and pointed it out proudly to a friend. It turns out that she, too, had just "traded down," replacing her Audi with a Toyota. We laughed about how we were both so happy that we'd gone the practical and dependable and non-prestige route. (I also got a big break on my insurance premium, and even a refund!)
My new car also boasts satellite radio, a sunglasses-holder and a roomy, deep beverage holder that securely holds a drink from Starbucks or a pint of Baily's chocolate milk (in comparison, the old car's beverage holder seems downright flimsy). Stop laughing: it's important!
The odometer rolled over to 100 on the way to breakfast at Perkins; to 200 on the way home from the Jennersville Y; and to 300 on Strasburg Road while going Christmas shopping in West Chester. And its inaugural fill-up was at the Willowdale Landhope.
I bought the car from a dealership only half-an-hour away, but I could tell they didn't get many country customers. I got some really weird looks when I said I needed more ground clearance because I drive on unpaved roads every day and often park in pastures.
A neighbor told me she once had to assure a salesman that, yes, she really did want to buy a pickup. "But ladies don't drive trucks," he told her. And another friend said her salesman tried to talk her out of getting a brown car: "Nobody wants brown," he insisted.
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