How I really feel…

12 08 2010

In my “About Me” section I mentioned how I’m the consummate optimist.  I refuse to see the worst in any situation or in anything, really.  Except myself, it seems.  This constant need to “see the bright side” drives my husband crazy but when he’s down about something or angry about something, I feel that I have to be the positive voice. 

Case in point, this new to us car we just got.  My husband already hates it and keeps threatening to sell it.  We JUST got it and it’s eons better than my car that is about to fall apart.  We still have my car, but since we carpool the new to us car is really OUR car.  So there’s my shitbox and then this new acquisition.  So whenever he gets mad that we bought this car and that it has problems he didn’t know about (he’s an auto shop manager and therefore his cars must not have any idiosyncracies or it drives him crazy and makes him furious).  It turns into this whole downward spiral about how we’re “failures” because we couldn’t even get a loan to buy a nicer car.  A newer car.   But I always say the good things all the time about it. 

1.  It doesn’t sputter and threaten to die every 30 feet.

2.  The air-conditioner WORKS.

3.  The passenger seat is all in one piece.

4.  The interior is pretty much flawless.

5.  It doesn’t have enough body damage to keep a repair shop in business for a month.. 

All of these are in direct contrast to my car that we were driving…  in this excessive heat.

So how do I really feel??

1.  It clunks.

2. It vibrates (and not in a good way).

3.  It’s 11 years old.

4.  It’s an old person’s color car.

5.  It’s a major gas guzzler.  And since I don’t want him to get pissed off about that fact, I’m putting gas in it like every day that he doesn’t know about so he doesn’t know how bad it actually is…  but ya’ll it’s bleeding me dry.

So how do I really feel???  It’s a PIECE OF SHIT.  But I don’t admit it so that I can keep things on an even keel.  But I sort of hate it.  

That’s how I REALLY feel.

I can’t drive….  fifty-five….  Hamlet’s Mistress


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