I know it’s a delayed reaction when I chose to obsess over one tiny detail. I’m telling and retelling my story, praising OnStar, my husband, airbags and my insurance claims process when I get a call from the rental car company regarding my afternoon reservation. First he says they don’t have any vehicles right then, but should have something by 4 pm. Um. it’s a rental car company with at least two other branches in the metro area, isn’t that the PURPOSE of your company? To Have Cars? Two hours later, I shall call him Kyle, (because that’s his name) advised me he had a minivan ready for me.
OMG! OMG! A freaking MINIVAN! Who do you think I am? Just because I drive an Equinox does not make me a soccer mom, minivan driver. I have adult children. I don’t need a MINIVAN. All I could think of was that giant, powder blue behemoth with the clanky sliding side doors and pictures of stick figure family members pasted on the back window.
At one point once I’d realized my overreaction trigger, I tried to just suck it up. I told myself to just roll with it. The pervasive headache is not lingering affects of inhaling airbag disco sprinkles, and careening my skull against the headrest, it’s more than likely my ponytail is just too tight.
We made it to the rental car office (strangely not open on Sundays. what the heck?) in good time and spent a good half an hour schmoozing and talking Pitt State football with a former All Star player from the championship team. I managed to talk my way out of the dreaded mom mobile only to find myself “upgraded” to an ugly, dirty, smells like cleaning supplies and faint cigarette smoke Nissan Pathfinder. First off: it’s blue. Not that I have anything against generic navy as a color (I’m wearing a new Navy sweater coincidentally from OLD NAVY) but as Max Hinthorn always says, “Cars come in two colors. Red and Needs Paint.
It’s a car. It drives. It took me 15 minutes driving into the setting sun to change the radio from sports talk radio. It’s a car. It’ll suffice until either Starship Enterprise or The Big Red E is either repaired or replaced. It’s time to drive it like it’s stolen.
Again, I’m probably picking that mosquito bite to scratch when there’s clearly a bone sticking through my skin.