All Grown Up and Nowhere to Go

We bought a car. A grown-up car. We bought it legitimately, from a dealership, equipped with smooth talking, mustache-wearing salesman, not from the old lady down the street. For me, it brings some sort of new sense of responsibility that I can't decide is comforting or terrifying. First of all, it boasts technology only Steve Jobs would understand. We own no actual key to enter it, the seats send jarring waves of heat to our bottoms and it actually speaks to us, recommending restaurants and nearby gas stations. I asked it to drive me to inner peace but I think that's a different option package.

In a month, we're moving to an area of the city that requires us to have a car. This opens up fantastic possibilities, including bringing groceries home without the bottom of the bags falling out while crossing Clark street, savings on constant flights and trains to visit loved ones, an overall significant reduction in frostbite and windburn. For now, however, I'm still a downtown girl. I can walk anywhere for anything I could possibly need. In addition, I haven't driven in 5 years and have skills that would warrant a "Student Driver" sign on the top of my very technologically advanced vehicle. The car symbolizes change. Scary change. Super Wal-Mart change. No Bloody Marys at brunch change.

I have one more month in our ungrown-up residence, walking instead of driving, eating on TV trays, storing pots and pans under the bed. It's time to grow up. And good gracious, you should see the new kitchen.

But for now, the car lives here. At least until I get my driver's license.