So in the middle of my adrenal nightmare, something unexpected:
A fully-loaded 2009 Audi 4 Quattro convertible. We bought it. It’s mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. A vehicular concubine. A “Sapphire Blue Knight”, in homage to its jewel-toned monochromatic shell and soft hood. That deep blue the color of rare sky that matches the changing shades of blue in my eyes and complements the coppery red in my sometimes curly locks. Even makes my thighs look thin due to the fact that, well duh, you can’t see them since, of course, I’m typically seated while driving. And even if you could—if, for some reason, I found myself role playing the opening scene of Footloose—I still don’t think anybody would notice because the car itself commands a certain kind of singular attention.
And when I drive it, I am momentarily transported. To a place of supreme hotness, where all my youthful fantasies come to life. To where I no longer feel violently middle-aged, peri-menopausal, and adrenally deprived.
Which is one reason—or maybe even two—why we got it.
I think it’s fair to say, we surely weren’t looking for it. We didn’t plan to leave the house on that sunny Saturday about a week and half ago with the intention of buying a sports car worthy of what I’m now calling my second official mid-life crisis. (The first being my leaving Chicago eight years ago to come here and [finally] get married, mother two rescue dogs, have a house in the suburb, and lay claim to an armoire full of black stretch pants.)
But it was the universe in action. A divine intervention if you will that delivered just the appropriate dose of healing for the incurable disease of feeling old and bored and like you just need a little something something…
You see, we went out with my mother and father for a fun day on the town. I had been thinking about trading in our Honda Element—planning to get something new in early 2012. It was just a fluke that some of the dealers in our area were having “March Madness” sales—and that my dad was also bored and up for a good time checking out their inventory.
I had no idea that we’d take one car—and one car only—for a casual test drive and then buy it. But who could resist that tan leather interior, the kindness of the Audi navigation system (her voice like a gentle therapist), the convenience of blue tooth. The ease with which the top opens to reveal endless possibility.
As I turned the wheel for the first time, I see Dan feeling the sides of the leather with the flat bottom of his palm from the corner of my eye. “Nice ride, huh?” the car sales guy in the back seat calls to us, noticing a little drool on the side of my husband’s mouth. He’s packed in to the rear of the car like 10 pounds of potatoes in a five-pound bag since the two-door Audi is really not designed for somebody who’s 6’ 5”.
But whatever. I was too busy feeling like I’d been dropped into a warm hot bath (seat warmers, can you hear the angels?) than to worry about what’s-his-name’s comfort. After all, there was water floating around me like liquid jello. It was my time to enjoy it…
…And a far cry from the bus-like sensation I’d come to know from driving the Element two hours a day for four year on the Pennsylvania turnpike—of course, a perfectly fine car, if you’re hauling freight or operating a mobile dog grooming business.
But not the Blue Knight.
Not a dream machine that makes me feel less like I’ve arrived and more like I’m riding in a well-worn-but-really-not Barcalounger sipping on calorie-free hot chocolate while my husband gives me a very focused foot rub.
Once the test drive was over and the sales guy reached his way out of the back of the seat as if he were practicing some extreme form of yoga, I looked at my husband and said this:
“Can we get it? I want it. Can we?”
“Sure, why not?” he said, casually, as if I’d just asked him if he wanted a piece of gum.
“Can we afford it?” Because even though it was used, it was more than $1.
“Sure, why not?”
“If we get it, can I still get my hair done every six weeks?”
“How about shoes–can I buy some new shoes?”
“No. Sure can’t.”
“How about the shellac manicure? Can I get that along with an occasional pedicure?”
“No, babe. You can’t.”
“But we can get the car, right?”
“Sure. Of course!”
And so, it’s ours—resting quietly in the garage as I write. And it’s glorious. And that’s what’s new, dear readers, since we last spoke. Oh sure, I’m still adrenally challenged, but now, I can “meditate” in style. In soft leather with satellite radio and just the right presets, a navigation system that tells me I’m a-okay, and blue tooth that makes hands-free calling as easy as a 90-minute massage.
If that doesn’t help those nasty glands simmer down, I don’t know what will. How about you? How do you like your car? Tell me all about it. And if you see me on the road, be sure to honk and smile.
And until next time!