Project Happily Ever After

I absolutely detest the thing. My husband, on the other hand, idolizes it and, at times, I worry that our conflicting feelings on the matter might just end our marriage.

So you probably want to know what kind of car it is, right?

My answer: It’s a blue good-for-nothing midlife crisis mobile.

His answer: It’s a 2002 BMW M5.

He bought it about two years ago, after I begged him to buy a new car because I hated his old car, too. His old car was some sort of Acura. It was the same car he drove when we first met, the very car that he drove me around in during our first date. It was actually the same car that caused me to think, “Gee this guy must have a good income. He has a nice car.”

What can I say? Looks can be deceiving. That car, at that time, was  sort of pretty in a way that only cars can be. It was shaped like a race car. It had an impressive spoiler on the back. It looked fast and expensive.

Had I never had to actually sit in the driver’s seat, I probably would not have come to feel such rancor for the blasted thing. But drive it I did, especially after our daughter was born and we realized that we could not safely install a car seat in the backseat.

Therefore my car became the main child transportation vehicle. If I wanted to go anywhere without my daughter, I had to drive his car.

Within the span of years between that first date and childbirth, the Acura had also lost its prettiness. It had a big dent in the back bumper from the night I backed it into one of those industrial sized flowerpot things. It was an accident. It really was. I never saw the flowerpot coming. I swear I didn’t.

My husband mourned that dent. He mourned it for a very long time. He never let me forget it.

The car had many other problems. The stereo display didn’t work. Wires stuck out from all sorts of locations. The driver’s side door was incredibly difficult to unlock. Most problematic? The car only started when it felt like it.

I eventually complained about the damn thing enough that he decided to start looking for a new car.

He had recently turned 40 during this juncture, mind you. I knew what kind of car he might think about getting. So before he started his search I said: “You can get whatever you want, but it has to have a back seat and four doors.”

He hung his head. Then he came home with the BMW and a smile. It had a back seat and four doors. It also had a big engine. It was capable of doing all sorts of tricks on curvy roads. One neighbor, who happens to be an actual race car driver, gave my husband the ultimate man compliment and literally oohed and ahhed over the thing.

I was happy with the BMW for a while, too. After all, it could safely transport a child. It seemed to actually turn on when one put a key in the ignition. All of the doors seemed to open and close and lock and unlock. It had a GPS. That was pretty fancy. The seats were comfortable. Our daughter liked to play with the car phone. Most important, it had a sensor in the back that caused the car to beep loudly when one’s wife was about to back the thing into an industrial flowerpot.

It was fast and flashy enough to count as a midlife crisis mobile, yet practical enough for your common every day middle aged dad to drive.

For many months, we were in two-car heaven. He drove his car. I drove my car. I never drove his car. He never drove my car. It was marital automotive bliss.

Then winter came. More precisely, it snowed.

That’s when my husband informed me that his car had rear wheel drive and summer tires. My practical mom mobile, on the other hand, had all wheel drive and two complete sets of tires—one set of summer tires and one set of winter tires. All of the tires were mounted on their own rims, too. So we never had to take the car in to a mechanic to have the tires changed. My husband just did it with a jack in the driveway whenever he got around to it.

“Can’t you get a set of snow tires for the BMW?” I asked.

He said, “No.” I believe the reason was that a set of snow tires for the BMW would cost almost as much as a new car. He might have also said that the BMW would not look cool with snow tires. Or maybe it was both.

Whatever the reasons, we’re now on our second winter with the rear wheel drive BMW with summer tires.

A typical snowy day in our house is like this.

Him: “You going anywhere today?”

Me: “Don’t even think about going anywhere near my car.”

Him: “But I need to…”

Me: “I hate your car.”

The other day, in fact, it was supposed to snow. My husband wanted to borrow my car so he could go snowboarding.

“No, I refuse to enable you. You are the one who wanted an impractical car. You should have to be the one who is inconvenienced by that choice.”

And in a self-righteous huff, I got in my car and drove to pick up our daughter. As I was driving back home, I heard a really loud “THUNK!” and felt the right side of the car dip and then jump.

“That was a super huge pothole,” I said.

“Yeah, that was a big one,” my daughter said.

About a half mile later, the car started pulling to the right and making funny noises. The road also seemed a lot bumpier than I remembered it.

I pulled over and got out. It was really dark. I couldn’t for the life of me tell whether or not I had a flat. I poked my tires with my fingers. They felt a little soft, but not so soft that I could not drive on them. I was about a mile from our house and I did not have a cell phone or a flashlight. I decided to chance it and drive the rest of the way home.

Later, I informed my husband that I’d hit a pothole and that something was wrong with my car. He went out to inspect the damage.

A few minutes later, we had this conversation.

Him: “So you thought it was driving funny?”

Me: “Yeah.”

Him: “Like what exactly do you mean by funny?”

Me: “It was pulling to the right. Do I need an alignment?”

Him: “You need two new tires. Both tires on the right side are completely flat.”

This series of thoughts ran through my mind: It’s supposed to snow tonight. We need the mom mobile. The mom mobile cannot be out of commission. What will we do without the mom mobile?! We will be lost! We will not be able to leave the house. We will die of cabin fever, starvation, and marital disharmony!

Me: “Can you fix it honey?”

Him: “I think so.”

In the hours that followed, I learned that Canada had passed a law that required all Canadians to drive on snow tires during the winter months. As a result, snow tires were pretty much sold out everywhere, even in Pennsylvania.

Or, at least, that’s what my husband told me.

I think that’s what he said.

He ended up putting two snow tires on the front of my car and two summer tires on the back. He had to make a trip to a tire store to flip the rim on one of the tires. All told, the repair cost about $16 and his entire day off.

As I readied myself to drive my newly fixed car, I hugged him and thanked him. I thought he was the best husband ever for fixing my car all by himself. I couldn’t wait to brag about him to my friends during Girl’s Night Out, a special night that I would now not miss because my special husband had fixed my car so quickly.

I even made a mental note to stop complaining so much about the mid life crisis mobile, at least for a few weeks anyway.

But later that night, he said, “Maybe later this spring, when we have some money, I can get the BMW’s windows tinted.”

Me: “You can get the windows tinted after you buy yourself a set of snow tires.”

Him: “But I don’t need snow tires.”

Me: “You don’t need your windows tinted either. Just wear sunglasses.”

And, just like that, I was back to hating his car.

Do you hate your spouse’s car? Does your spouse hate your car? Tell us about it. Leave a comment.

Tomorrow: Other things that I hate.

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