I’ve never technically owned a car. There is a car in my household (or in my driveway, ba dum tss) that is reserved for me exclusively, but as my dad loves to point out, it isn’t my car. The first was a silver 2011 Mazda6. Now I drive a white 2016 Mazda6. It still isn’t my car.
Suddenly, my parents started taking $200 odd out of my bank account monthly to put toward the car. I don’t even know if I’m making payments toward the car itself or putting money toward the insurance. The money is just gone, which is so frustrating because they only started doing this once I got myself a steady income. I’m sure if I vocalized this frustration they would equate it to taxes and then make a condescending remark about how as a liberal, I should love paying taxes.
Frankly, I just don’t understand the whole obsession with cars. Or rather, I can understand it. I’ve been obsessed with my fair share of things (the Twilight series immediately comes to mind), but the car obsession doesn’t apply to me even a little bit. I like my car. I take pride in keeping it nice and clean, but ask me anything about horsepower or mileage or whatever people talk about in reference to cars and my eyes will literally glaze over. If I’m talking about my car it’s to brag about how little clutter there is in comparison to my friends or to complain that the check engine light is on AGAIN.
I love “my” car because I love being able to get where I need to go without relying on other people, but cars really are such a hassle. I’m thankful that I can still rely on my parents to deal with the dirty work that comes with my car. Sorry, the car.