Edited to add: Pssssttttt…..here I am with the new wheels.
My eight-year-old Pathfinder quit running Wednesday because that is what happens when you are counting on a nice little tax refund and you might splurge and get your eyeballs “fixed.” Wheels trump eyeballs every time. Mama must have a reliable mama mobile.
Hubby had cleared his afternoon yesterday so we could drive about an hour north to scope out a prospective SUV I’d found after a couple of hours of research on every website known to man, from CarMax to Craigslist. Miss A was under the weather so I had kept her home from daycare and she went along for the car shopping expedition. I know. We like to live dangerously. Have you ever taken a small child car shopping?
Miss A was a real trooper during all the various stops we made to get the financial part squared away and I made sure one of those stops included the dollar store for some cold cash bribery items as, of course, I’d forgotten to bring anything to keep her entertained, not even a pack of crayons and a dog eared coloring book. Once it hit 5 p.m., though, we were all wilting and had reached that pivotal point of signing all the important paperwork upstairs at the dealership in the financial office. Miss A was unraveling before our very eyes and I couldn’t sign the paperwork fast enough. She was squirming, kicking her shoes off, throwing her socks, trying to put her bare sweaty feet up on the desk, refusing to sit still, and generally being a very tired 3-year-old. I couldn’t really blame her as I was ready to go home, too, but no one would accept that type of behavior from a 38-year-old woman.
She finally wriggled from the hubby’s arms, dashed out of the room, and I took off after her down the hallway.
I looked left and right and did not see her. It was eerily quiet.
I heard a door at the end of the hall to the right slam.
I walked down and turned the door knob which led to a very large windowed corner office overlooking the car dealer showroom.
It was locked. A car salesman heading down to the showroom looked back up at me over his shoulder and smiled… “Oh, she locked herself in the big boss’s office!”
Miss A had locked herself in the private office of the car dealership owner. The man whose very name was emblazoned on hundreds of shiny cars out on the lot.
OH MY GOD!
Visions of my child locked in an office for hours, starving and ransacking a car dealership owner’s private office as she foraged for a juice box and a pack of crackers rushed through my brain. This could make the 6 o’clock news in small town America!
Then I heard her on the other side and snapped back to reality. She was looking up at me through the glass, looking like a real stinker, obviously finding the situation very humorous. A man who looked amazingly like the businessman depicted in the stately portrait hanging on the office wall ambled up behind her and opened the door. He was very congenial and smiling. I was profusely apologetic and sweating. He offered Miss A jelly beans. I politely declined and grabbed my wayward child.
And then Miss A took wriggled away once again and ran down the hall in the opposite direction, ready for another adventure.
p.s. I am now the proud owner of a sharp black Ford Explorer with a sunroof. I haven’t had a sunroof since I was in college! The girls love it and so do I.