"Blue Graphite"?

So. I'm driving a new car. I, Rosie Bonner--longtime non-driver, reluctant consumer, hater of new car smell, broke-ass temp--am now tooling around the genteel, historical suburbs in a 2005 Volkswagen Jetta wagon, resplendent and classy in its coat of glam yet mysterious "Blue Graphite." It makes my stomach hurt to think how much we can't afford it, and I still can't help thinking that some unprepossessing little 1996 Civic or something would have been a more appropriate choice, given our financial situation. I'm angry at myself for being so passive during the process. I know nothing about buying cars (Constance, my dearly departed 1990 Camry, was a very generous gift from my mom, who bought it from the mother of someone she works with), and the whole thing makes me feel overwhelmed and stupid and like crawling into a closet and curling up on the shoes and closing the door. So I really didn't push my 1996 Civic vision, and now I'm thinking I should have. We really, really can't afford this car. We're already in debt up beyond our eyeballs, and this is a hella expensive area to live in, and yeah, I'll be working as a nurse, but not until late summer, at the earliest, and even then...

But. But I have to say, I'm really loving this car. They put in all these little aesthetic touches for people like me who don't know from cars, like a chrome plate around the gear thingy. The ignition key leaps cheerfully out of its rectangular black housing like a little squared-off switchblade when you push the silver button. The controls look all contemporary and technophilic, but quietly so, nothing garish or geeky. And the color. The color truly is lovely--its name being silly yet strangely accurate.

Beyond that, it's zippy (well, zippier than the sluggish and beleaguered Constance, at any rate) and steers nice and tight, and I'm going to have to pay attention not to speed. Driving Constance, I could tell how fast I was going, within 5 mph, without looking at the spedometer. I don't know what it is now, exactly--is this car quieter, or is it just that it labors less?--but I'll all of a sudden be going 50 mph in a 35 mph zone, and it's only by a glance at the dashboard that I can tell.

What's weird is that it's as if I'm now this different person--this driver. In a new car, I'm just another American in an automobile, somehow. I'm no longer a driver in a grudging, half-way, on-my-own-terms, hair-needs-washing, eccentric kind of way. Now I'm a busy professional with an on-the-go lifestyle. I'm today's discerning consumer who demands value and convenience. I'm a law-abiding taxpayer who just wants the best for my family. I'm a soccer mom. (Not that Cassie, at 3, has yet discovered the glory of wearing kelly green and white, stuffing padded plastic half-tubes down the fronts of her socks, and chasing around after a ball with a knot of other children who refuse to unclump no matter how much their coach yells directions. I do know that this is not unlikely to be in her future, though, so I suppose I'd better start trying now to summon, from the reserves of my soul, at least a scintilla of enthusiasm, come to think of it.)

Something else that this car represents, though, is an opportunity to start fresh. I can learn all about proper car maintenance and do all the right things at the right times and keep all the records all nice and neat. I don't have to feel guilty. I haven't done anything wrong yet; I haven't neglected anything yet. I'll keep the air pressure in the tires just where it should be, and I'll check the oil and track my gas mileage and get tune-ups and learn all about antifreeze and whatever else I'm supposed to do. I'll get one of those books about car maintenance for lame-ass sissy girl dummies. And then it won't be something that I'm not dealing with because I don't know quite how, and that I dread thinking about because it makes me feel crappy. It will just be what I do.

That will be nice.