My Trauma–Wearing The Wrong Skin

car2I totally get that most of you don’t get the way I feel about my car. I love it. I love driving it. It is agile and fast. Far more of both than am I. Than I’ve ever been.

It’s also incredibly beautiful (to me anyway).

Since the engine seized up (traumatically for my ER Doc daughter who was driving–middle of a busy intersection; she knows I love this car), multiple highly-intelligent and knowledgeable people have consulted and recommended how to deal with this catastrophe. I mean a Honda engine isn’t supposed to give out at less than 50,000 miles, even one in a beautiful, highly-tuned sports car.  The very best machinist was chosen to rebuild the engine and I’ve been without a car six weeks, waiting on him to get to it.

Six. Weeks.

For six long, excruciating weeks, I’ve been ferried around by others–my daughter, my obliging mother-in-law, a friend–like a middle-schooler. When my daughter moved home and has stayed with her father and I while she gets set up in a new apartment, she talked about feeling as if she’s 16 again. Let me tell you, nothing makes you feel like a kid more than having to ask to be driven around.

Now my dear husband(DH for short) doesn’t at all mind sharing his car with me when he’s not running all over the city to do therapy with foster kids(he’s incredibly good at this). He drives a black ’08 Honda Accord, which is still a pretty nice car even though he’s put a ton of miles on it.

Still, driving it just feels…not right.

My beloved ER Doc daughter–so described because we also have a beloved Ph.D. Doc Psychologist daughter–has also allowed me to drive her new car when she’s sleeping after working all kinds of hours. Or she’s been in Brooklyn, visiting her boyfriend.

Upon returning to this area from Brooklyn, NY, she bought a very nice FSport Lexus. It handles way better than most sedans and is very attractive. But it’s white. You may have noticed that we’ve all switched from buying black cars to buying white cars. Just try finding the right one in a parking lot.

Driving my daughter’s car has felt more comfortable than my DH’s more “floaty” Accord, but it still hasn’t felt right. When trying to explain to my husband what this car means to me–he enjoys, but isn’t as into fast cars as I am–I told him the car is like my exoskeleton. You know how insects have their crispier parts on the outside and their soft mushy parts on the inside–unlike humans. Well, it’s kind of a strange example, but this car feels like my exoskeleton.

Truly. I’ve told my DH that I’ll sell the car if he needs a kidney. But that’s about it. Whenever Honda dealerships in the area send me requests to buy the car, I scoff at them.

So yesterday, we got word from the machinist that the engine of my beautiful car–which everyone agrees could have been way more damaged that it was–is fully repaired!!!!! Now our reliable mechanic, who pulled the engine for me, can now install the repaired engine along with the clutch parts it needs.

I should get the car by the end of the week. *weeping softly in relief*

I know most don’t get it.

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