I have a saying, and I'm only half kidding, "Time to change the oil, time for a new car!" First off, I hate to deal with car trouble. Hate it, hate it, hate it. It's a man's job in my opinion, and my dad dealt with it the right way, he bought a new one. So, you ask, how is that fulfilling your Christian purpose? Um, I witness to car salesman? Okay, not really. In fact, I am a pretty good dealer now, so I think I'm probably not a witness at all, actually. But I get a great deal -- which makes me a better steward. Except for the fact that I don't really need a new car. But that's just splitting hairs, isn't it? A deal's a deal!
Anyway, I admitted to my new pastor that I have a car fetish. He was appalled, shocked, gave me the Christian guilt thing (which doesn't really work on me, I was raised Catholic) and I stood there, shamefaced, and wishing I could slink off in a leather-appointed foreign make. I miss Silicon Valley, where such a fetish is not only overlooked, it's appreciated. My old pastor understood me. He appreciated a 645i or a passing Lexus 450 with the awe that is what every car lover posseses. He understood the Boxter is the girl Porsche.
This is one thing that's hard about living here. People don't get the car thing -- it's a mere vehicle to get you from Point A to Point B -- hopefully with lots of tow capacity. I'm living without a phone. I'm living with no neighbors on ACREAGE. I left the beloved city, but I will not. I repeat, I will not give up my car aspirations. It is everything I am. And it is not a contentment issue. I could live in a smaller house, I could have fewer vacations, but I will not drive an average vehicle. I am Kristin. Hear me roar!!
Oh, that's a picture of the new rug I got. Isn't it gorgeous? Silk and wool. Okay, so I'm not exactly suffering out here, but a little drama is good for the soul.