The Family Car Dynamic.

Our family has two cars that we drive daily.  (Eyeroll…which will be explained as you read on)

There is my Mommy/Soccer/Grocery Delivering/Transport Carrier of any Animal or large household goods SUV…Oh and ANYTHING dirty.

Prince Charming’s?  This black fiberglass beauty of corvette is the one thing he put his hard earned money toward.

You would think he birthed it.  He treats it like the ring that is coveted by Gollum of Lord of the Rings.

There is that level of love for his car that if one of our dog’s hair flew on the hood, he would flip his wig.  If he wore a wig.  But you get what I mean.

Everything my car does, his does NOT.  It literally just takes his pretty little butt to and from work….and the occasional drive off post to let her loose and go above grandma status.

I will not or do not want to drive it. He unknowingly treats me like a first time drivers education student from a foreign country that is known for bad drivers.  (Bless his heart)

Getting in a car gracefully is not something I associate with myself.

I awkwardly shove my purse in an appropriate space that won’t hinder the driver.

And I sweat on leather seats if my bare skin touches it.  (Gross I know…I hate it).

 “Drive my Vette and come get me?”

Prince Charming takes the Mommy Mobile to PT every morning.  Remember, we don’t get his car dirty, people!  So, one fine morning, MM (I”m gonna Army Acronym this), did not want to start when he was done running a billion miles and completing a zillion half jacks,  4 miles from home.   I was at the bus stop putting the kid on her chariot to education.

He called and we came up with several scenarios…Catch a ride home with someone and get your Vette?  Can you just walk? Ask a neighbor to drive me to get him?  Call the taxi people on post to come pick him up and pay to get home?

Then he said with false confidence “Drive the Vette and come get me.”

Ex-vette-me?

First Thought….Hell, no.  I can’t drive her.

You know when you step on the Wii FIT and it groans with displeasure because it knows you having been shoving carbs in your face?

I imagined the Vette noting once my tush was firmly in her seat, it would groan and say “Powering down, incompetent driver alerted”

Car wreck noise…back to reality.

WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME?

I’ve been driving cars since I was 17 years old.  For Vette’s sake!

I have driven this type of fast vehicle before!  (Technically, I just backed out my roommate’s Vette 10 feet out of our garage.)

I got in that hunk of junk, tried to get her seat to a completely close proximity to the steering wheel and backed it slowly out of the garage.  (Yes, I did silently pray I would not clip my side mirrors and yes, I did call it a hunk of junk so she knew who was really in charge).

Driving the short 4 miles to my lad in distress, I did get some looks.  Probably because I was sporting a mom bun from the night before that had slipped to my left ear and clutching the steering wheel with two hands.  Who does that?  In a Corvette?  Sigh.

One does not expect to see someone like me driving a speedy car like that during school bus time.

Me + #Corvette= a story for me to share. Of course. (eyeroll) Share on X

Channeling possible reasons, my Prince Charming loves his corvette, I did a snarky head nod “SUP” to the the guy next to me at the traffic light…and he could have cared less.

Pulling into the parking lot, my husband had a big goofy smile proud that his wife could handle such a beast of an engine, and possibly thanked anything holy that his hunk of junk came to him in one piece.

Final synopsis (I’m trying to increase my vocabulary and this word was on my 5th graders list last week), is that I’d rather still drive my cute little Ford Escape Mommy Mobile.  She doesn’t care what I look like, or how much I weigh, or that my foot gets nervous when it pushes her gas pedals over 65 mph.

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