It’s terminal.

I don’t really have a time frame.

I only know that when it happens, it will be sudden and over quickly.

My best guess is in the next few months.

And it will be sad.

I love this car.

I have so many amazing memories.

It was the first family car we bought when I could no longer maneuver my gigantic nine month belly into the GTO Andy bought the day before we got married, which was incidentally two days after we had the, from moment we say I do, we make all our decisions, joint decisions conversation.

The floor of the front passenger side is sticky with rum after a tipped thermos of spiked hot cider on the way to see Christmas lights  three years ago.

It always smells like warm vomit for the first five minutes the heat runs ever since I threw up eggplant parmesan  into the passenger side air ducts after a night of too much vino.

But, the best part.  More important than every crayon marked memory…

It was completely paid off.

And lord knows, there is nothing I hate more than trying to remember to make a car payment on time.

Yesterday, my friend Meredith, who works for a mega huge dealership, could smell my pending desperation, and brought me a car to try out.

Which, I had no idea that even happens in real life.

A shiny new GMC Acadia.

I decided to test it out by driving it up to Ikea for some shopping.

And meatballs.

Isn’t Sweden adorable!?

We made it a girls day.

Me and Gigi.

We arrived a bit early, as I forgot it was Sunday, and even easy to assemble furniture must to answer to the Lord, so we went for pancakes.

So far?

A perfect unbutton your pants and fasten them with the emergency rubber band you keep in your pocket just in case morning.

We piled back into the car.

I reminded myself where the key hole was, and pulled back onto the road towards Ikea.

Then, I heard this weird sound, a gurgley, chokey sound.

I turned around to check on Gigi, and Oh My God she was throwing up.

In the car.

I did not own.

So, I swerved across three lanes of traffic into a Walgreens parking lot, ripped off my hoodie, and in this weird screamy OMG VOMIT STOP COMING OUT FOR REAL SOMEONE HELP ME I HAVE $12 IN MY POCKET AND CAN’T AFFORD THIS CAR TODAY  maneuver, tried to catch all her puke in my jacket.

She threw up pancake, whipped cream and maple syrup for two minutes.

By the time she was empty, I had her stripped down naked, standing in the middle of the parking lot.

I wiped us off with wet wipes.

Gigi, however, was back to normal, chatting it up on the curb, trying to show her vagina to strangers because, as she recently discovered, you can pull it part, and it is the coolest/weirdest thing attached to her body.

We ran next door to Target to get her some fresh clothes, and, I don’t know, forty pounds of other shit I end up buying when I go into Target for one fucking thing.

We got back into the car.  Exhaled.  Reassessed.

Ok.  We were two hours from home.

She seemed fine.

Should we risk it?  Yes.

Back on the road.

We get to the Ikea parking lot.

Gurgle.

Choke.

I rip my shirt off, and dive to the back seat.

I have nothing left to sop up vomit.

Besides my pants.  And it’s not the time of the month that I am willing to go pantsless on unpaid for seats.

I give up.

Home.

Must go hooommmeeee.

I put naked diaper Gigi back into her smelly seat.  I wipe up any renegade droplets of vomit that touched the new interior.

Did I get it all, does it smell?

I can’t tell.  Everything smells.

I smell.

I toss the last of puked on things into the garbage bag in the trunk, and sit defeated, topless and covered in curded milk  in the front seat.

GPS lady, please get me home fast.

I find the highway and take off.

I hear…wind.

Because the back gate is open.

Which has everything to do with why people are pulling up next to me honking, and apparently nothing to do with my rack.

This car has a million buttons and screens and beeps and I’m 90% sure it takes my temperature rectally, so I have no idea why it didn’t warn me the back gate was open.

But, it was, and all our belongings; the bags of smelly clothes, the treasures form Target, were now strewn about the highway.

So, I pulled over the car.

Fuck.  Fucccckkkkkkk.  *hits steering wheel*Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckkkkkkkk. *whimper*

I put the strap of my diaper bag around my neck.

You know, to cover my goodies while I ran all over the road picking my shit up, which GUESS WHAT, I didn’t even have to do, because a policewoman did it for me.

That’s right, I got to explain to a lady in a badge why I was diving down the highway with my gate open. In a car with dealer plates.  That smelled like vomit.  With no shirt on.  Wearing my old lady bra.

Are you going to write me a ticket, for, like, naked driving and accidental littering?

No, ma’am.

OMG thank you, thank you, you have no idea how sorry I am, I have had the worst day ever.

Understandable, not to mention, you are going to need to save all the money you can, you may be buying this smelly car today.

Fuck.

Andy is going to be so pissed.

Facebook Comments

comments