The End of an Era...

Historians and archeologists have fancy names for the planet’s time periods: Paleolithic, Mesozoic, Byzantine. I think I mark the periods of my life with the vehicles I drive, and with little fanfare or hoopla, I bid a bittersweet adu to the Jetta era. The Jetta era began right after college and the trial filled Plymouth Sundance era. Long had I dreamt of driving a brand new car off the lot, and since I had a “real job”, my ship, or car as it were, had come in. Oh so sassy, so zippy, was its silver sleekness. And, that’s how my life felt. College degree—check, husband—check, great job—check. I was a DINK in the city, pretty much able to do what I wanted, when I wanted. Then, as only a major catastrophe can do, the Jetta era ended.

It was neither meteor shower nor plague, earthquake nor flood that brought the Jetta era to and screeching halt. The screeching was actually due to another car slamming into the side of my beloved Jetta as I was in a little too much of a hurry to turn left. So, the sudden end of the Jetta era gave way to the equivalent of the automobile dark ages, also known as Evil Jetta era. Insurance never pays out what it should, and thus, the replacement Jetta was slightly less than sleek. But, it was mere months after bringing home Jetta Jr. that its true colors started showing, and we called the tow truck for the first time. Then, the windows stopped rolling down. My husband, being the oddly frugal man he is, refused to have them fixed as they weren’t an essential function of the car. Say what? Have you ever tried to live without drive throughs for a year and a half? It may save you money, but it’s not worth it! Oh, and the windshield was cracked in two places, and no, not an essential function of the car…Which brings us to a year and a half post window malfunction. After calling a tow truck for the 4th time in 18 months (do they have punch cards?) we have declared a cue on the Evil Jetta regime, and by joining with our ally Craigslist, have banished the inept dictator.

Enter the era of the Subaru Outback. Oh, my sixteen year old self would be mocking my 29 year old self. A station wagon?!? Really? My deer husband has had a mancrush on Outbacks for years, and they make a good surf-mobile. In addition, and perhaps most importantly, it is a practical family vehicle. Yes, that’s right, “family”. Goodbye DINKhood. Hello, OIOK (that comes dangerously close to OINK…not a funny joke around a pregnant woman). Yes, that’s right, ready or not, we’re expecting. So, goodbye sassy, hotty car. Close curtain on DINKdom. Hello, practical family vehicle. And between intermittent vomiting, feeling as if I’m going to vomit, and eating to prevent vomiting I’m enjoying the fresh air and cool breeze that can only be created by rolling down the windows.