Driving Myself Crazy

I have decided that there is no such thing as the perfect car.

At least, I haven’t found it yet and I’ve been searching for the past four months. Perhaps it’s just not in our budget.

What I have found is a bunch of lemons that could never make lemonade even with all the sugar in the world.

I have also found some of the dodgiest car dealers that ever prowled the planet.

Sad to say, there’s a good reason that used car salesmen keep turning up in lists of professions we trust the least.

Aside from the misguided males who seem to think that a female isn’t interested in anything aside from the colour when it comes to choosing a car, I have also come across the fellas who actually believe that you’ll fall for their charms and buy the first vehicle they show you, even though it’s the wrong size, wrong shape, and definitely the wrong price.

And just quietly, I’ve found that if you know more about the car than the ones trying to sell it to you, it’s time to take the exit ramp.

So there’s been a lot of desktop research going on, not only to narrow the selection for the next family bandwagon, but also what to look out for once you take the next step and set foot on the lot.

Oh and there’s nothing like taking a car for a test drive to strengthen the bonds of the family ties.

Yes, the times I have managed to drag my Beloved and offspring along to check out a likely contender, it’s taken twice as long to get the specs on the car, let alone start talking turkey about buying the thing. If it’s not the kids dashing off in different directions exploring every open door in the showroom, it’s my Beloved spotting something else entirely across the lot and throwing that one into the mix, just to add to the confusion.

Mind you, I have discovered that having the kids tag along can work wonders with any less-than-up-front salesmen…they’re usually so keen to see the back of you all that the usual sales-talk game-playing is kept to a minimum and they’ll tell you what you need to know pretty quickly.

On the flipside, it’s hard to haggle over the trade-in when your children blow your bluff about how good your car really is. No good telling the dealer it runs like a dream when the kids in their inherent honesty remind you about that clunking sound it makes.

After all that, even if you find something that suits, ya gotta go with the to-ing and fro-ing of the figures as both sides try to get the most out of their money. And can I tell you how frustrating it is to get “this close” to driving home the deal, only to reach a roadblock where neither side will move any more.

It’s almost as bad as finding your dream car described on one of those car sales sites, and then finding out it’s sold before you even picked up the phone.

Oh yeah, 4 months is a long time in the search for the perfect car.

But I’ll keep walking the walk and talking the talk and we will hopefully reach a satisfactory conclusion before one or both of our current modes of transportation break down once and for all and leave us stranded somewhere even the roadside assistance won’t wanna come (my Beloved and I are placing bets whose car will go first).

Best case scenario, I will finally win that elusive lottery and be able to simply cruise into the caryard of choice and take two, thanks, in matching colours, if you don’t mind.

Which reminds me, research on that has shown that I might have better luck if I actually bought a ticket once in a while…I only hope the car makes it to the newsagent to do so!

Jx
©2009

Bottoms up!

First thing I’m going to do when I win the lottery is throw out all my undies.

Oh I’m not going to go off and join a commune or even ‘go commando’ ... it’s simply a secret dream I hold (not so secret now though) to once again own at least one complete set of matching bra and briefs. And socks without holes. Like I used to have in the years B.C. (that's 'Before Children' for the uninitiated). Instead of the hodge podge of decrepit cotton I make do with now.

Yes, due to different demands on the family budget, gone are the days when I had underwear I could happily wear. Gone too, the times when I could strip down to my smalls with a smile when necessary (and given my medical history, it’s been necessary a little too often).

I’ll try to be brief (pun fully intended). These days, I’m flat out finding a flattering (and not flattening) fit for my girls. I’d settle for a pair of panties that stayed put once you put them on. And don’t even get me started on socks! (I’ve already stated my opinion on those annoying little devils.)

Why is it that manufacturers of over-the-shoulder boulder holders for larger ladies think that black, white, or beige is enough of a colour choice? And why are they so darn expensive once you go up a few cups? It’s not like you’re using that much more fabric to make the darn things, for crying out loud!

There have been times, as I’ve recounted elsewhere, that I have tried on practically every item in the store without success. And too many times I have longingly looked at the lingerie section…*sighs*… there but for the grace of God go I.

As for undies, maybe I’m just unlucky, but I’m yet to find a brand that stays where they’re supposed to, looks great, and won’t break the family budget to buy. They either ride up, fall down, or my all-time favourite: the waistband stays behind after the knickers come off (please tell me I’m not the only one that’s happened to?)!

I have found that if you’re worried about the dreaded VPL, you really need to go the G string (in its various incarnations), and risk doing damage where your mother never kissed you. Or if you opt for comfort instead, you’re pretty much left with Nanna knickers, otherwise known as Passion Killers (for obvious reasons). That’s a bit too ‘Bridget Jones’, even for me.

Sure, there are other options for tops and bottoms, but I’m yet to discover the perfect pair within my current price range.

For example, a friend of mine recently splurged on one of those Dr Rey Shapewear jobs. Aside from the fact you almost have to mortgage your house to buy a pair, she found it nearly impossible to A) breathe, B) walk, and C) go to the bathroom… but hey, it’s true that she looked good not doing all those things!

So I’ve had to settle for the Best & Less specials, and managed to get the pulling up or picking out down to a fine art.

Oh, I’ve also decided that genes play their part in these particular problems. (Something else I can blame on my parents.)

Yes, unfortunately for him, it seems my son inherited the family backside and was forever pulling his waistband up or the bottom bits down, until we switched him to boxer shorts. It did the trick too- and the time spent picking at his pants has been greatly reduced, I’m happy to say. He never did quite get the knack of doing it without drawing attention to himself. (My daughter, however, is not at all fazed to tell all and sundry whenever she has a ‘wedgie’. So we’ve put her in those boyleg/shortie undies too, to try head that one off at the pass, so to speak.)

And so, first item on the agenda when I win The Big One is to chuck out all the smalls. And then replace them all.

And you can be sure that when we crack the champers to toast our win, it’ll be “Bottoms up” in more ways than one!

Jx
©2009