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After a year of persistent nagging, Brian has finally taken my dear sweet Beast of a car to the mechanic for inspection. Yes, that’s right, I’ve been driving a car illegaly for a year now. I know I could have easily taken the car in myself but I was trying to make a point.
Sadly, my car did not survive the inspection.
I drive, I mean, I drove a 1992 Buick Park Avenue that was luxary back in the day. I affectionately refer to my pimped out old man car as “The Beast”. I thought it was clever when I was in college because then I could be “Beauty in The Beast”. Haha. I loved this car though. Originally the car belonged to my grandfather until three years ago when we took his license away and he gave me the car.
The thought of getting rid of this car pains me. But the idea of spending two thousand dollars just to pass inspection pains me more. Brian, however, is rejoicing. He has long hated the Beast and I suspect he now feels liberated from seeing it parked out side of our house. I’m just sad. I had great plans to still be driving the car when I had kids.
Now I find myself car shopping with my husband which is a very interesting and surprising experience. So far, the process is really highlighting the difference between Brian and myself.
For now we are still trying to duke out what car shopping will look like for us. And the compromising is tough. I’m half tempted to get our pastor, Todd, involved and call it marital counseling because I’m not sure we have the language to effectively compromise and communicate on this.
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