I had lost Sven and wanted another Honda, but the teensy bit of cash that came from the insurance money certainly was not enough. ‘Just get a car,’ the husband said. I irritated him with my pining for Sven and he’d had enough of it, so he found a car for me: a Grand Am.
To say I despised this vehicle is an understatement. I came to the conclusion it had been a flood car (popular in the eastern states — salvage a car that’s been damaged in a flood and resell it) because the springs and such beneath the seats were all rusted and it perpetually smelled like sour hair or something, despite my best efforts to clean it. The dash display was orange and the buttons were in strange places. However, the husband wanted nothing of my ‘complaints’.
Soon enough, circumstances changed and a bit of money came into my hands. My first goal was to get out of the apartment and into a house. The second goal was to buy a different car. A Honda, like I’d originally intended.
But it didn’t make me feel better as I thought. The world was still too strange …