After Matthew was born, dad decided that his grandson needed to be in a safer car than a soda pop can with four tires and a steering wheel. On a sunny Saturday afternoon, we strolled down to the end of the street and walked up the access road where people in the neighborhood parked the used cars they wanted to sell to take a look. There in the sunlight was a sweet looking bright red Subaru DL with everything a girl making less than the average Joe could want.
Four doors, A/C (my first car with this luxury), power window, it was a dream come true at the time. It was a 5-speed, but that was not a problem since I had long mastered a manual transmission. Before I knew it, I was driving the car back home. Like my other two cars, it was a good little car. Unfortunately, the previous owners must have painted it with nail polish right before they sold it because before the summer was over, my car looked like it had some sort of disease. The clear coat over the red cracked so it looked like there were vericose veins all over my car. There were more than a few times that I found a business card from a body shop on my windshield.
That, alone, wasn't so bad because once I got inside, I could at least pretend it looked as pretty as the day I got her. The real problem was that the brake pads would wear down in less than six months. Seriously, I was replacing those things constantly. I had my dad, my brother-in-law, my then boyfriend at the time all taking turns replacing my brakes. Even then, I still went through my rotors at least four times because I waited too long to get them repaired. My boyfriend was convinced it was the way I drove. I kept telling him that I never had that problem with my other two cars, but he wouldn't buy it. It was probably a good thing that we didn't get married after all.
About a year after I finally got rid of the car, I saw a Consumer Report article which rated the Subaru and it got good to excellent ratings on everything...but the brakes! Can you say, vindicated??
One day right before Christmas, I got home from work and my dad had one of the biggest surprises for me that I ever had. He wanted to take me to buy me a new car for Christmas. He only asked that I not get red car, to which I wholeheartedly agreed. To this day, I never really knew what possessed him to do get me a car. I could tell my mom wasn't really enthused by the idea. I was making better choices, but I still had some growing up to do. I've always given my Uncle Bob credit for the deal. He had a way of sweet talking my dad into some crazy ideas. Or maybe dad felt bad because of what he perceived to be his part in my breakup with Steve.
I was so afraid it was just some cruel joke, but that same night we headed over to the Toyota dealership and within a few hours, my Subaru was left, squealing brakes and all (I was, once again, in need of brakes and probably new rotors) in the lot as I drove a brand spanking new light blue Toyota Corolla back to the house, screaming at the top of my lungs, all the way. In a million years, at that time of my life, I never thought I would actually own a car that had a genuine new car smell.
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