Snap out of it

My husband went to Europe for two weeks, so I bought a new car.

But while The Cat was away on business, The Mouse's old rattle-trap car - which has been patched together with rebuilt parts, spot welding, and duct tape - started to make a noise so heinous and unsettling that the car radio set at its highest volume couldn't drown it out.

OK, the mouse might have panicked. But the Cat was all "It's your cheese. And I really hate car salespeople. I'd look for something new, so you don't have to worry about it."

But worry is my currency. And it was burning a hole in my pocket.

How will I get to work and back? How will I get the kids to play rehearsals and music lessons? To wresting and basketball? What if there is an emergency? The grocery store is only three miles away, but we might as well live on Pluto if my car up and dies now.

The last thing I wanted to think about was how soon our newly minted 16-year-old would be angling for wheels. Yet that very thought was

keeping me up at night. That and the brakes that seemed like soft, squishy cheese.

So I did what any semi-irrational, middle-aged motorist who's never-owned-a-new-car does in such cases: I cruised a local car dealer's website looking for a bargain.

Suddenly, a window popped up in the corner of my screen.

A prim little emoji with a smart page-boy haircut and operator's headset typed out a greeting each letter appearing separately and stitching themselves together as if by magic.

"H e l l o! We have hundreds of new and pre-owned cars to choose from. Take our personalize survey and let us help you find the ride of your life."

The last car I bought on my own was back in the days when car ads lined birdcages. Just before the internet and cell services gobbled up all of our attention and when cookies were the things you might track so as not to ruin an appetite.

Honestly, it looked like a trap.

But at that moment, I felt like a certain wolf, with courage enough

to chew off its own foot to save it from the trap of the wrong car. ...

I typed in my information:

I am looking for a pre-owned compact hatchback preferred with manual transmission. Must have advanced safety features and be fuel-efficient. 

= : ^ )

My anime operator's response: 

=8 ^ O

"You are looking for a unicorn."

Of course, she didn't use those words, but asking to add years to my timeframe struck terror into my heart.

It's strange how months of thinking about replacing a car can turn into a mad rush the second you click on a virtual showroom.

The mission had me.

The next thing I knew, I was making appointments to test drive possibilities and talking myself down from the ledge. 

"I'm going to take the weekend the think about it," I told myself and tag team member two, who got me in a hand-off from the emoji woman and had every intention of passing the baton to his team's "number cruncher."

You could almost hear the sound of failure as I sprinted out the floor-to-ceiling glass doors.

But I couldn't let it go. Two hundred thousand miles was just inches away.

The rattle and clang of my car just got louder the further I got from the showroom. The brakes seemed to get softer. Hmmm. ...That thumping sound is new. 

I can see another car dealership in the distance. I decided to stop. The sales team has all the same pitches, but they also had a unicorn.

Well, almost. This fairytale creature didn't have a hatchback and had only been around the block about 111 times, but it was a reasonable price, and it had safety features up the wazoo that came standard. 

When my husband called to check in and see about our progress, I told him the news.

"I bought a car. I pick it up Monday."

"That's great! How do you feel?"

"Right now, I feel relieved. But I'm sure I'll snap out of it."