The Italian Job

I promised I would write about the car.  I keep going back to that time even though I said I wouldn’t. I think it is important to fill in the gaps.  My ex college BF George wrote to me to keep blogging as long as “it helps and doesn’t become work”. Which leads me to the world famous Penelope sidebar—George commented that he was saddened that I had such bad luck with men. I don’t believe in luck. Do people get great jobs because of luck? Or have six pack abs because of luck? (Well, George did have bizarrely 6 packish abs back in the day and I think it was luck, but I digress). Actually, he rode his bike from the east coast of the U.S to the west coast of the U.S. before Forrest Gump ran.  That gets you 6 pack abs. We have to work at things—whether it is Sulie with getting her CPA, Polly launching her fabulously successful Internet Dating Site, Fulfil finding the love of his life on match.com…it all take work. It sucks ass that I ended up with John. I had choices and I chose to believe him and trust him. I stayed for the boys. I didn’t want to fail. Insert Charlie Brown’s teacher’s voice listing off the other millions of reasons. Luck had nothing to do with it.

Back to the car.  I had a kick ass Red Convertible Mini Cooper S when I lived in Lafayette.  When we were married I had traded in my old car to get a Nissan Armada.  John convinced me we needed a SUV to comfortably seat the boys who were all getting bigger every day.  We needed something to trailer the boat and the jet skis.  I acquiesced.  This is the girl that has owned 2 VW Rabbits, 4 VW Beatles, a Miata and a Honda Civic in her short lifetime.  The Armada (recall me backing that mutha up and over all the framed photos in the garage) was a behemoth.  Sure, it was styling and profiling.  There was a button for everything...It made John proud in front of his friends tailgating at LSU games.  I HATED it.  It represented everything I couldn’t stand.  It cost more than 50 bucks to fill up.  I couldn’t park it.  John hung a tennis ball in the garage to signal me when I was pulled in enough.  Oh but this was my car.  Our car allowances changed at work and I decided to get a car for me.  I was on planes every week so it would be my fun car.  We went to the Mini dealer in Baton Rouge and they had just gotten a sweet red convertible in off the boat.  I drove it and it was mine!  John mentioned it was the happiest he had ever seen me.  I tried to explain it was something that was mine.  I had gone from being a single woman to living with 4 men.  Sure we had the boys on and off one week…it was very different from living alone.  Things would mysteriously disappear—my headset, my new Wired magazines, books, CDs (can I help that I had things that appealed to teenage boys?)  One night I got home from a typical work trip—3 days in somewhere lovely like Omaha.  Continental through IAH, Cab, Marriott, Marriott Burger and Coors Light (thus the problem selecting body type on match), work with rep for 2 days, then back home.  I drove up to the house in my company car (there are way too many cars in this story).  I walked through the garage and noticed a dent I the back of the Mini.  I walked in and the twins were in the kitchen.  I said hi and asked about my car.  Sweet H quickly said, “It wasn’t me.”  He was the squealer so I zeroed in.  It ended up John was backing up with the twins in the Mini.  H said he yelled, “watch out” as John backed into his company car.  I thanked him for the Intel and pledged that I would not reveal my source.  John got home.  I waited.  He never mentioned my car.  What an Ass Clown (my favorite expression my friend Betty uses).  Long tedious story short…he didn’t plan on telling me.  Thought he would “get it fixed before I noticed.”  “Knock, knock... who’s there? Red.  Red who? RED FLAG!!!”

But this is not the point of this post. Recall the Neighborhood Whore Watch Committee?  Once my neighbors knew that I knew, they all started to spill.  Pao had actually been seen in the passenger seat of MY red Mini.  Now that is just sick and wrong.  Sleep with my husband, cook in my kitchen, but I don’t want a bitch in my car.  When I left the Mini went into storage and the movers moved it to Tampa on the truck with my stuff.  I hated getting in that car.  It was tainted.  I had a 2-car garage at the condo.  I drove my company car most of the time.  The company car went when I was laid off.  Thankfully, the house sold in Lafayette about that time.  I had a big chunk of change coming to me since I had put so much down on the house.  John tried to say he should get some of it.  Enter Phil K with his boots.  It was a non-issue.  I may pick the wrong men, but Penelope don’t mess around when it comes to her cash.  Once that check hit the bank I knew it was time to look for a house, but more importantly a new car.  I went to the closest dealership which was in Palm Harbor.  I met Rollin (real name—I can’t make that up. Pronounced Rawlin).  Shout out to Rollin Maranville. Together we built the new Mini to replace the tainted one.  Rollin was another one of the "Marias" I have come across.  He was the salesperson I "randomly" (are things really random) got when I walked in. I told him why I wanted to get rid of the red convertible.  He was so kind. When I go in for service he always finds me to say hello.  He emails and checks up on things.  He sends cards.  He knows more about Minis than the service guys.  I am going to send Rollin a link to this post.  Rollin--I am really sorry about my language. You know I am a nice girl even though I do use a bit of colorful words!

May I present the 2010 Mello Yellow Mini Cooper S?:

http://www.minioftampabay.com/