The Hawkinsmobile: An Ultimatum

Having a nice car is right after Polka on a list of things I care about. It drives Greg crazy because he loves all things cars and shops AutoTrader faithfully. He will email me an AutoTrader photo with “What Do You Think?” in the subject line, just for conversation’s sake.  What I think is that I don’t care. I want two things in a car: leather and a big trunk. Leather, not for luxuriousness, but because my boys are disgusting on upholstery. The End.

My car has 105,000 miles, and a variety of damage. One person backed into me at Target and dented my front fender. Toby opened his door against the cart return rack at Wal-Mart three different times. My side panel has a two foot scrape from either a) pulling in too close to the lawn mower or b) Toby’s bike handlebars. I don’t dwell on these imperfections. My car is always covered with dirt film anyway, so I doubt a few dings make any aesthetic impact.

Two months ago my CD player quit working. At first I was ticked, but then I remembered the hours of Kidz Bop, and suddenly it’s death seemed an act of mercy. We never listen to regular radio because there are only so many safe ways to explain “booty” to a four-year-old. We have survived on our local Christian station even though they’re a little Barry Mannilow-ish in format. (They specialize in Michael W. Smith’s early work and also every version of “Shout to the Lord.” I’m not judging. I’m just giving facts.)

I was making it, I really was. Until yesterday. It was the Christmas Preview. Non-stop Christmas music all day. I pulled out of the Church parking lot to Bing Crosby’s “Silver Bells” complete with swooning background choir. It was hideous.

I love my car. My car gets me. Even when her backseat sprouts a landfill, she never judges. She does her job like a good little sedan. Its not her fault that someone stuck a penny in her disc changer. But even I have limits. She better pray the Bing Crosby CD gets lost or it’s AutoTrader time at the Hawkins house. I’m not kidding.