Driving Me Crazy

Our car's warranty must have expired, like, yesterday. Over the past month, from the brakes to the catalytic converter, our trusty Passat wagon has been crapping out on us piece by piece. I've had a good run with our car, but when the built-in garage-door opener falls out onto my lap while I'm driving, I start to wonder if we're coming to the end of our relationship.

I'm developing a wandering eye, surreptitiously checking out other, newer cars as I go through my days. And not so surreptitiously too, for example going to the SF Auto Show and drooling over the 2007 models like a St. Bernard. Rick had to pull me away from the BMW booth before I started humping the wheels of the 5-series wagon.

Hey baby...come here often?

And so we are starting to face the inevitable--at some time in the near future, we will be getting a new car. This process is much harder for us than for average humans. First, because we are a one-car family. We live smack in the middle of San Francisco, and live by the one parking space = one car rule. It saves us from circling the block 10 million times every night and getting our windows broken by crackheads.

Also, although Rick and I agree on one or two things, nothing brings out our differences in upbringing and material values like shopping for a multi-thousand-dollar purchase. The car selection process is proving to be even more of a landmine than the Great TV Fight of 2005 (still too painful to talk about--all I'll say is, plasma roolz and CRT droolz).

We are in total agreement (sort of) that our next car will be a hybrid. But that's where it ends. To Rick, cars are the ultimate value statement. A car is not for luxuriating in or showing off. Your car should say, "Do not seek comfort in my seats! Use not my climate controlled A/C! I am saving the planet!" In other words, Rick's dream car is an electric shitbox that resembles a sooped-up golf cart. If it doesn't get at least 50 miles to the gallon, toss it back.

How many clowns do you think we can fit in this?

The thing is, Rick rides his bike all the time. When the shit comes down, and 2 kids need to be picked up or groceries need to be gotten, I'm the one behind the wheel. Maybe I'm getting old and soft, or maybe I just get hot when I smell that new leather interior, but for once I would like to splurge a little and get something quasi-fancy. I'm not talking about navigation systems and DVD for the kiddies, I just want to feel comfortable in my car. And safe on our winter drives to Lake Tahoe. I want a car that is good for the planet, but also pretty nice to me. I want this:

The Lexus 400h. I KNOW it's an SUV. But it's a hybrid. And a 4-wheel drive. And it's smokin'.

Unfortunately, Rick thinks that I am smokin'--something--for even thinking about it. He would compromise on a Prius or a Civic hybrid, but I'm convinced that we would crush either of those cars under the sheer weight of all of our crap. And in light of recent tragic events, I don't really care if I'm protecting our natural resources if I'm seeing them as I sail through the guardrail of I-80 in a snowstorm. I want 4WD and heated seats and this baby has it all.

The other day he sent me the link for the Phoenix SUV:

But it has a great personality!

It's all-electric. It has a 240-mile range. It's $40,000 and it's available next year.

And it's fug. I'm not supposed to care, but I do. I am a failure as an environmentalist. But at least I look good.

Can this marriage be saved?