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During last July’s 5.8 earthquake, 3-year-old Bronwyn told her 1-year-old sister, “We’re going for a wiggle.” READ MORE
Single Parenthood
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Sometimes I really miss having a man around the house. Someone with the car gene, anyway. A guy who understands V-6s versus V-8s, horsepower, torque and the difference between MSRP and invoice. (I can hear the Tool Time guy grunting right now.) Not to disparage us ladies, but admit it, Girls: We don’t know as much about cars as men do. It’s not that we don’t have the capability to stuff our heads with all that useless knowledge. It’s that we simply don’t want to. Shopping for a new car was always my ex-husband’s job, one he took quite seriously. He’d fritter away precious hours that turned into months reading the classifieds and pouring over “Consumer Reports.” It was maddening. Ruled by my shopping gene, I’d plead, “Look, let’s just go to the dealership.” But, no. That would be too impulsive. Buying a car required knowledge and research, so he claimed. And he was always right. We’d find a car so perfect it would keep us happy five years down the road. After the divorce, I was determined to make it on my own. I bought a house, supervised a remodel, established ties to a new community and resurrected a career. When it came time to buy a car, I was empowered. After “extensive” research that amounted to a few weeks of eyeballing passing cars on the freeway, I bought the brand-new Nissan Armada for two very female reasons: It was stylish and “on sale.” (A Nissan-employed friend gave me his discount.) There weren’t too many Armadas on the road yet and I liked being a trendsetter. My love affair with the Armada lasted about a year. It was the miles-per-gallon that did it in. I soon discovered that S-U-V stands for “Sucks Up Volumes” of gas. It cost me $350/month simply to go to and from work. I admit it: I failed at my first car-buying solo. But like my hopes for a second marriage, my next car would be perfect, right? “Perfect” now meant “fuel-efficient.” So I bought a Honda Accord Hybrid. (The engine is powered by both gasoline and electricity.) It promised 29 mpg city, 37 mpg highway (grunt, grunt). I was a pioneer, a trendsetter again, a champion for the environment. Still . . . I had nagging doubts. Hybrid technology is so new, it’s a bit risky. Will they be the next DeLorean, the next Gremlin, the next . . . who am I kidding? I don’t know anything about car history. Anyway, I had my hybrid for two months way past the break-in period and got only 22 mpg. Not the advertised 29 to 37. After talking to other hybrid owners and tapping into online message boards, I discovered the fuel-efficiency of these vehicles is grossly overestimated. I was crazed! There was only one very-female thing left to do: I activated the whining gene. Yes, that very same gene notorious for causing the breakdown of some marriages comes in handy when buying a car. See, I whined so much about my disappointment with the hybrid, Honda has offered to cancel my lease and get me into a completely different car. Of course I’m thrilled . . . I get to go shopping again!m Lynn Armitage traded in her Accord Hybrid for a standard Honda Accord. It gets about 27 mpg and she’s finally stopped whining. |
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