Because my truck had been towed away three days after my mother’s lung cancer procedure, I had been a little too busy to shop for a new/used car.   But one afternoon Banjo Man and I went to the local Mazda dealer and eyed a few “pre-owned” crossover SUV’s from Kia.  I even drove an over-priced four-year old Mazda Tribute.

At home I researched cars on Edmunds.com and cars.com and checked out prices on autotrader.com and craigslist.  I made pages and pages of notes for Banjo Man to peruse.  There was a particularly perfect used Mazda van three hours away in Connecticut and the dealer was willing to lower the price.  And then my mother came down with shingles, a very nasty case of shingles, which left me no time or energy for car-research or shopping.  There was no time for anything, period.  Cars were low on my list of priorities.

I sat Banjo Man down in one of the bright yellow-but-comfy chairs (the ones that later sold for $25 at the consignment stores–someone got a bargain), handed him a glass of wine and said, “You have to listen.”

I then explained I could no longer research cars, shop for cars, check the Kelly Blue Book prices, read reviews on cars, etc.  I was too stressed, too busy.  We would put the Toyota money in the bank, save it for our upcoming road trip and our daughter’s wedding and we would share the Mazda Millennia.

Banjo Man understood.  He said all the right things, totally agreed with me, gave me a hug, tossed the stack of car notes in the trash.  It was over.  I breathed a big sigh of relief and returned to Mom’s house.

Four days later, my husband came home from an appointment with a sheepish look on his face.  “I know we’re not buying a car now,” he said, “but I was driving by that auto body shop next to Wal-Mart and there was a Kia Sorrento sitting out in front with a sale sign on it.”

I groaned, but since my head didn’t explode he looked a little more cheerful and handed me a piece of paper with his notes on it.

“I went in to the shop and asked the guy about it.  It’s only $6000 and has 53,000 miles on it.  The owner died and the estate has to be settled.  So the auto shop guy put it out there as a favor.  Do you want to google and see if it’s really a good deal?”

“I thought we weren’t shopping any more, remember?”

And then he said the magic words:  “Heated seats.”

In the most secret corner of my heart I yearned for  a car with heated seats.  And Banjo Man knew it, dammit.  He’d played the Heated Seats Card.

“It’s the top-of-the-line model, with 4-wheel drive,” he announced.  “Just one little thing, though.  It belonged to a veterinarian and has some scratches inside.  And it smells a little like dog.  Can you google how to get that smell out of leather?”

Heated seats.  Heated seats.  Heated seats.   It was my mantra the next day when I drove to see the car.  It took a while to get the key from the shop owner, it was raining, the car was parked by the main road and there was mud.  It looked perfectly nice from the outside and, sure enough, the seats were leather.  But gouged.  As if a pack of hungry Rottweilers had scrambled unsuccessfully to escape.  The rips extended to the windows in the back areas, too.  And the scent of dog (don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love dogs but I also believe in bathing them) was overpowering.

I couldn’t quite imagine driving across the country in a few weeks with that smell filling the car.   Would it ever really disappear or would every humid day bring new wafts of bad, bad air?  I could possibly live with the upholstery–and wasn’t there something advertised on tv that miraculously sealed leather?

The price was very reasonable, the miles totalled only 53,000, and the car looked good from the outside.  Maybe…

And then I realized—as the rain poured down while I waited in the drive-thru line for a cup of coffee at MacDonald’s–that I was falling for another one of Banjo Man’s “bargains”.  I was making the same mistake all over again.  The Buicks, the Ford van, the red truck, the Datsun truck, the Dodge, etc.  All the monsters that Banjo Man had optimistically seen as “good deals”.

And now here was the “Smelly Dog Car”.   It was time to take a stand.  Heated seats be damned.

I returned home to my hopeful husband and said:  NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!!  I AM NOT FALLING FOR THIS AGAIN!!!

Banjo Man took it well.  For four months.

And then, in September, he decided to buy a truck.

(to be continued, because this is getting too long and if you’re still reading you’re probably ready to get on with your day)