Coming to terms with some new car truths
This past week has been a time of coming to terms with some truths I’ve been hard-pressed to accept.
This includes the reality that a new car becomes an everyday older car, no matter your effort to the contrary to freeze time.
Consider that I’ve still got this glorified white paper mat, for example, on the driver’s side floor of my car.
It’s a mess getting messier — dirty, on the ripped-up side, a far cry from the fresh not-trampled-upon look it had a few months back when I was in test-driving mode.
Having one of those dealership paper mats on the floor — not to mention retaining new car smell (that’s not a Bath and Body candle scent yet, is it?) — those are qualities that keep a new car still new, right?
When those are gone, the new car becomes just a regular car you put gas in and drive around to get from point A to point B.
It’s an outfit accessory.
“When are you gonna’ get rid of this?” Better Half asked me when I let him drive my car the other day.
He gave the once-white paper mat a little frustrated kick for emphasis.
Silence was the best answer I could muster at that moment, not all that sure I could come up with a justified excuse to suit him — or me.
“I don’t want the real car mat to get dirty yet,” I reasoned without strong conviction because, honestly, the ripped-up paper mat has started to aggravate me, too.
There’s a brand new rubber mat, however, under the beat-up paper mat, but I’m trying to keep the brand new rubber mat nice and neat in hopes of prolonging the newness of that, too, I told myself, certain that one of those cartoon conversation bubbles had popped up above my head.
Understand that we Kiaskis don’t get new cars with great frequency, so I’m admittedly on protection patrol as you might expect.
I hope for a police escort when I back out of a grocery parking lot.
I still run a yellow caution tape around the car wherever I park, disappointed my giant bubblewrap order has yet to arrive.
I drive the speed of Janice, fearful I will hit a piece of gravel or a pothole of any size or put too many miles on the car.
I don’t park next to anyone, but far, far away, telling people I’m doing it to get more exercise. Lies.
And so far I’ve refused family members’ requests to bring home fish or tacos from drive-through restaurants. Too smelly, I explain kind of apologetically, offering to bring them a salad instead, without onions, of course.
Speaking of horsepower, my horse Thunder had a birthday this past week, turning sweet 16, which makes him old enough to get his license, come to think of it.
I survived driver’s education with two children, three counting myself, so that’s as far as I go.
I gave Thunder a hug on his birthday and a few treats, too, realizing another truth I’ve always been reluctant to accept.
People told me once you get a horse, you won’t ride as much as you think you will.
True, Thunder probably has low mileage for sure — but no paper mat either.
(Kiaski, a resident of Richmond, is a staff columnist and community editor for the Herald-Star and The Weirton Daily Times. She can be contacted email@example.com.)