Prophylactic

Last night we bought my husband a new car. Exciting yes? No, not really. Not so much. The process took about three weeks with test driving and then making model choices and color choices and then haggling over price and then the dealership having to find the car because the one we wanted in the color we wanted wasn't at out dealership. We really had to work hard for this little car, which I think is actually considered a SUV, though a small SUV, and not a car, but whatever.

We agreed on a price and then the price we agreed on was no good. Because our salesman was sketchy? I dunno. Then the manger overrode whatever nixed our previously agreed price and it was all good again. But then they didn't have the car in our color and it would take two days to get it, and a week later still no car. Then they finally had the car, but it wasn't there when Boo went to go see it and around and around we went. When our salesman could not figure out how to use a fax machine to fax a copy of the purchase agreement to our credit union, I figured that this was the final sign that the world did not want us to have the car. And I kind of made peace with that (truth be told, it was actually pretty easy since the car was for my husband).

But lo and behold the planets realigned, the gnomes got on board, and we (well us and the credit union) are the proud owners of a new shiny black car (body style "s. wagon" which means that my husband is one step away from a mini-van or mid-life crisis). Now that it is done and I have had time to reflect, I can say, without a doubt, that my favorite part of this whole experience was when I was handed my key to the car. My key, donning it's very own condom.



You gotta hand it to the dealership, they may try to screw you, but they are watching out for you while they do.