Today I signed away the last vestige of my suburban life–Lucky the Black VW Beetle.
I bought dear old Lucky the winter of my freshman year. Lucky replaced Unlucky, the even-more-darling Red Beetle which I totalled on a sunny February day not 6 months after I bought it for a song. That was a really sad day. After Unlucky was officially pronounced totalled, I spent a month driving around in a rickety Ford Explorer (actually, the very same one which my brother has since rehabbed into a respectable car) while I shopped for a replacement. Lucky was the only one I could find within my price range. Driven by hatred of the Exploder and dazzled by the shiny chrome wheels, premium sound, leather seats, and sporty black spoiler, I impulsively purchased Lucky from a flaky 24-year-old dental hygienist, failing to recognize her worn tires, erratic door locks and power switches, and iffy brakes. Thus began our long and tempestuous love affair.
In spite of our respective flaws (Lucky’s quirks and tendency to wind up in the shop every few months for some sort of work that always managed to cost $500, no matter how trivial, and my own inability to avoid getting into a fender-bender for more than a few months at a time) Lucky and I got on pretty well back in the golden days of suburbia, zooming joyously along paved streets and flying down the highway as I did my commuter-student itinerant-violin-teacher thing. But when we moved to the backwoods, things took a turn for the ugly. Lucky’s already sketchy suspension went downhill quickly, the stones nicked up her once-glossy front bumper (which I used to keep meticulously black with touch-up paint), and by the end, all I had to do was look at her and something else would go wrong. It’s time. Now or never.
So today Lucky and I limped on down to Marv’s Auto Lot and I bought me a used cherry red Ford F-150 SuperCab pickup, which I will take ownership of tomorrow morning. The F-150 is in fact the highest selling automobile in the US, and has been for the past decade. I was surprised by this fact. The one I bought has a V6 engine, which gets above-average gas mileage (for a truck). It also has extremely high safety ratings, meaning significantly cheaper insurance prices. Yahoo! I am looking forward to driving on the dirt road without fearing for my car’s suspension, and doing lots of towing and hauling.
In spite of our troubled relationship I’m still just a little sad to see the Beetle go. It’s like the ending of an era…the Beetle was urban, trendy, cute, a car fit for a Starbucks-toting, stiletto-wearing sophisticate. I bought the Beetle because that’s who I thought I was. While my new ride is pretty darn cute for a pickup truck (it has none of the heavy-duty styling or overstated, oversized features that drip manly-man-ness), I still have this nagging feeling that it’s a slippery slope and the pickup truck is only the first step. Pretty soon my wardrobe will be nothing but Carhartts, Daisy Duke denim and cowboy gear, the Starbucks habit will give way to diet soda habit, I’ll get a poor dye-job done on my hair, and I’ll paste a giant ‘Cowgirl Up!’ emblem on the back of the cab.
Fortunately, our identity isn’t ACTUALLY defined by what kind of car we drive, OR what kind of clothes we wear. OR what kind of stuff we have. Or any externals. Because elsewise, I’d be having one heck of an identity crisis right now. Even when I get distracted by other things, the fact remains that my identity is rooted in Jesus Christ. And the God who created my distinct personality isn’t bound by stereotypes!
Hi. I’m Brittany. I go to school and study dead languages all day, and then I come home, shovel poop, ride horses, play with my siblings, eat my mom’s amazing dinners, and make a nuisance of myself. I teach violin and I design websites. I’m chaotic, I’m classy, I dance in high heels. Sometimes I shovel poop in high heels, too. I listen to country and indie and many genres in between. And now I drive a pickup.
Complete Duke Diet review from dietitian’s perspective.