I have struggled financially since the divorce. This past year has been the worst. Life would have been much easier if so many people would quit trying to take things from me, but life is all about lessons I guess.
I texted my boyfriend yesterday, exhausted over trying to find where I can come up with the money for my expensive car payment. Bankruptcy after the divorce has completely killed my once immaculate credit so a loan for a cheaper car is out of the question. My boyfriend offered me his “new” farm truck so I could sell my cute crossover and no longer have payments.
Are you being serious?
My boyfriend of many words replied:
Right there, in my kitchen, tears of relief welled up in my eyes. I am not a person who needs certain “stuff” to feel good about myself. I don’t care what I drive as long as it’s dependable.
Sooooooo, looks like my new pimp ride is going to be….drum roll please…….
A 1997 F250 Powerstroke 4×4 extended cab long box. This sucker is a tank. It won’t even fit in my little suburban garage. I now need to educate myself on how diesels work. Before I met my boyfriend, I never knew the slightest thing about glow plugs or plugging in anything but an electric golf cart.
I shared the new possibility with Grant and Kristy. Once Kristy learned we can all ride in the front seat together, she was sold. BUT…this is coming from my lil darlin who wears a “pink tree camo” (as she calls it) coat and completely matching boots everywhere she goes. She even happens to love the Browning deer and coon dog stickers on the back window.
Grant, my lil city boy on the other hand, is mortified. Now mind you, even though we live in the Midwest, we still live in the second largest city in our state. He tried to reason with the high cost of diesel fuel and offered to help make the payments on my car with chore money…to which Kristy quickly barked “Where do you think the chore money is coming from???” he finally sighed heavily and said “Mom, I just don’t like the idea.”
Then it hit me why.
He doesn’t want to be seen getting out of it when I drop them off at their expensive private Christian school superdaddy insists they attend.
I can see it now…
I am sitting in the car line with all the other moms…the Prius’ to the Escalades to the Mercedes …and there’s me revving my engine with thick black smoke billowing from my chrome smoke stacks emerging from the truck bed. Hell, I might even be blaring “Hillbilly Bone” on that first day. Not for the benefit of the kids because they both love country music, but for all the other parents sitting in car line with me, killing themselves to “keep up with the Jones’ “. I can’t help but giggle. I can see some life lessons coming from our adventures in Snowflake. Yes, Snowflake. I think that big ‘ol white tank needs a dainty name.