My other car is a Matchbox

Today I relinquished this:

And now share a car with the husband. I also have a pair of feet, several sturdy backpacks, and one of these:

This is supposed to be temporary. An exploration of my creative spirit, intestinal fortitude and a way to … ahem … built up some savings.

You see, the Jeep was an impulsive act. A Very Expensive Mistake. It was the one-night stand that became the stalker kind of mistake. Fearful of making that mistake again, of picking a vehicle that was just all wrong for me, that looked sexy in the mood lighting of the show room but in daylight became a freak show, I simply avoided car shopping on a serious level.

I’m hoping in the fall to purchase the perfect car. What will it be? My searches so far have come up fairly empty. But maybe not having a car at all will be the perfect motivator. Maybe when the heels of my feet are peeling and bleeding on the pavement, I’ll hobble on over to a car dealership and do some serious field research.

I need fuel efficiency first. I do a lot of driving. There’s no getting around it. I also need space. With two kids and the itch to travel, we need a roof rack and trunk space. We also need fuel efficiency. Did I mention that yet? Oh, yeah, and it needs to be affordable.

The search for the perfect car came up empty, leading us to today, with me handing over the keys to the dealership and walking away on foot, while the salesman watched a commission vaporize before his eyes.

This is something I’ve never done since I became a licensed driver back in the Ronald Reagan administration. The closest I came to this is when I was grounded from using my parents’ car and had to hand over my set of keys.

Follow me as I figure out how to go carless in the Motor City.