Fancy for a day.
We traded in my giant mom-mobile for a smaller car and I am so happy about it, I’m like a teenager that just got a driver’s license. Out of milk? I’ll drive to the store! Need to run to the post office? Let me do it!
I love parking a smaller car, I love that I can reach my kids in the back seat to clunk their heads together when they tick me off. I love that I don’t need a ladder to get my groceries out of the back. So, so many little things to love.
We were having a trailer hitch installed on Tuesday (gotta be able to haul my bike!) so the dealership gave me a rental car since the process would take the better part of a day.
I noticed that as the rental car guy was entering my info into his computer, when it asked for the car type, he skipped past words like economy and standard, and settled on elite. At the time, it struck me as noteworthy, but I was more concerned with getting home to take my boys to swimming lessons so I didn’t think much about it.
As I was led out to the car lot to pick up my rental, there was a line of cars much like the car we just purchased, and I thought, I hope it’s the red one. I like that red one. But no. He led me toward a silver Jaguar. I laughed and said, “Are you setting me up with that Jag?” (har har, chortle, chortle) He said, “Yep.” I laughed again, but stopped laughing when he opened the door and handed me the key. “Oh. Serious? The Jaguar? Oooookay.”
On the way home I called Kelly to tell him I’m running late and would he please ready our boys for swimming lessons as I will be picking them up shortly in my Jaguar. He said, “Shut up.” I said, “You shut up. They gave me a dang Jaguar.”
So here I am. A mother of three messy, mostly unrefined boys, driving around in this ridiculous car, hoping The Fish doesn’t puke in the back seat (he’s an easy barfer) and making sure they don’t wipe boogers on the leather upholstery. Among the extraordinary things I did that day were, go to the post office, take Beck to karate, thrift store, Arctic Circle for a lime ricky run, and pick up the dry cleaning. And everywhere we went, people looked at this car. And then they looked at me. Like, they wanted to see who was driving it. I didn’t like being noticed this way.
I felt like a giant douche bag. And just so you know, I really tried not to say douche bag there, but I thought and thought and thought and there is no other phrase that can describe how I felt as accurately as that one.
I couldn’t wait to unload that car.
Tate said it best as we drove out of the Costco parking lot. He said, “Mom, we’re not fancy enough for this car.”
I think he hit it right on the head. Maybe some day, but for now, I couldn’t agree more.
PS. If you own a Jaguar, I’m sure you’re a lovely person. Fancy, but lovely.
11 comments
I’ll bet if he’d driven with you before, he’d have hit the economy button. Ha Ha!
That is the best story of the day! You ARE fancy enough ANY DAY!!! I think you rock! It’s kinda nice to be spoiled once in a while!
whatever, i would have peed my pants. and probably driven 12 miles an hour everywhere, frightened!
who are, however, quite fancy enough for that car.
That’s so funny! Feel like Bella maybe in her indestructible car?! Except with kids….
That made me smile! And sometime DB is the word to use I say it front of my kids once in a while and have extreme guilt! But when it fits it fits! Have fun!
Hey Kelly, sorry to bug you but I don’t have your email anymore, but I have a good friend who is doing a silent auction/concert fundraiser for a little boy who needs a liver surgery, and I was wondering between your etsy shop and your gallery if there was something you could donate to the cause, It is really last minute because it happens on Monday July 19. If you can do something would you can email Kim at
chadnkimcullimore@yahoo.com Thanks a bunch Shannon
Me? I have minivan dreams. Is that sick? . . . Deep down, I don’t think so, but i am also torn on it. I need a fancy car to settle this inner debate. You know, see how it fits.
Also, with douche bag, my brother used to call me that when we were younger. . . until I described, in detail, what it was. It stopped.
SO, as long as you know what the said “bag” is and don’t pass out at the horrifying visuals, you can use it all you want.
I don’t know what is funnier…your post or Greg’s comment!!!
Kelly – live it up girl – I’d take a jag anyday!
Maybe if you had gone home and put on your gown and high heels you would have felt fancy enough for that car.
(That’s funny – because I know that you don’t own a gown or high heels.)
What’s even funnier, is that you went to Costco in it. You only could have bought a rotisserie chicken, and maybe some strawberries. Or maybe you left the boys there, while you ran your purchases home?
I mean seriously, what was the guy thinking when you set you up in a Jaguar? Was he thinking he was giving you the thrill of your life? Did he think you looked like a Jaguar kinda girl? Or did he just think he was being funny?
What a fun RENTAL car! We had our Chevy Malibu for the Wyoming trip and laughed that we could reach each kid and the front window shield in our reach. The Jag sounds much better.
So the real question is WHAT kind of car did you get? Pictures please. Let’s see this little car
The slang definition from Wikipedia so you don’t have to have that visual stuck in your head is: Douchebag, or simply douche, is considered to be a pejorative term. The slang usage of the term originated in the 1960s.[6] The term refers to a person, usually male, with a variety of negative qualities, specifically arrogance and engaging in obnoxious and/or irritating actions without malicious intent.
But Amen, I wouldn’t want people staring at me either. Love your stories. Love to laugh!
Leave a Comment