This is the day, I hope.
After much backing and forthing on what sort of car might replace my well-worn and over-repaired Volvo wagon, I decided last week to go with a newer (but not new) version of the same thing. I was close to going with the Prius, but decided it was too great an outlay and that someone in our family needs a vehicle that will hold both dogs along with more than two people.
The car is ready to be picked up, but there is one last impediment.
I cannot find the title to my current car.
I paid cash for it in 2001. Well, not cash, a check, but in other words, they gave me the title–or the application for it–on the spot.
I guess that means the actual title came later in the mail, but I cannot remember clearly.
Where in the world did I imagine was a safe place for an important piece of paper circa my 40th birthday?
It occurs to me that I used the upstairs computer room as my workspace in those days–or did I? Wait, no. I had a computer desk in the corner of my bedroom, for this was pre-Pure Luck, or at least pre-residential Pure Luck. He was the interesting, and perhaps significant, other.
Seven years is a long time. I lived here with three children, aged 15, 10 and 5. Can that be right? I bought a wagon because I had all those kids. I had no dogs. I had FOUR cats. Four. Lord. I wanted a wagon with a sunroof and a third seat. Pure Luck had watched me pressing on the roof of my car, wishing for one, and thought I was an odd creature. He was probably right about that.
The computer desk is long gone. The children are all taller than I am. The car is coated with dog hair. One of the dogs chewed on something related to the third seat latch, so it doesn't work anymore.
I want to trade it in before some part that needs repairing/replacing simply falls off in the driveway.
Who is that saint one prays to for lost things?