Last summer was a roller coaster of news—both good and bad. The bad news? Younger Son, while driving my beloved 2011 Ford Fusion to work while his car was in the shop, ended up totaling my car in an accident. The good news? Neither he nor the other driver was injured, and the crash wasn’t his fault. Not that I would love him any less if he were at fault—probably. I’d have to think about it. Saying goodbye to my Fusion was heartbreaking after thirteen years of meticulous care. The good news is I got a new car, a shiny red 2024 Toyota Corolla. The bad news is the insurance payout for my totaled Fusion fell several thousand dollars short of the new car’s cost. Several, several. The other bad news is the IRS still hasn’t sent our tax refund. More bad news was my trunk, which was jam-packed with my books, was crunched so badly it wouldn’t open. The good news is no one wanted to buy my books right then. (Or IS that good news?) Hmm. I have to think about that one, too.

Adjusting to my Corolla has been a journey. It’s not my Fusion, after all, and it doesn’t even have a DVD player. But since this is quite likely the last new car I will own in my lifetime, I admit that I am a tad . . . sensitive about keeping it as new-looking for as long as possible. For the first few weeks, I was like the stereotypical little old lady who only drove her car to church on Sunday. Since Younger Son left for basic training shortly after the accident and could not take his car, I commandeered his battle-worn car with its dings, dents, and scratches. It came that way from the used car lot, alleviating the anxiety of new-car syndrome.

I also did not allow Hubby to drive my new car because not only does he do things like spill his coffee and leave crumbs from whatever he is eating all over the seat, but he also has an alarming obsession with playing with all the electronic gadgets while driving sixty miles an hour in a thirty-five-mile zone in heavy traffic. I hold my breath while he presses button after button to “see what that does,” all the while, his eyes are glued to the computer monitor or dashboard rather than the road where the car in front of him has come to an abrupt stop. Or he has to see who texted him because it might be something REALLY important that can’t wait until he stops at the red light up ahead. (Yes, he is one of THOSE!) At least in his truck, his phone is connected for hands-free driving, but not in my car. This habit of his has me clutching the door handle and silently praying—or, more likely, not so silently berating him for being careless in MY new car. He also leaves wrappers, receipts, and miscellaneous debris behind in every vehicle he rides in, not to mention his penchant for misplacing keys, despite the conveniently placed key hanger just inside the front door.

Then there’s Walmart. It’s not a matter of IF I will have to go to Walmart, it’s WHEN. Going to Walmart is always a nightmare because of the other people who shop there. Now, before you make fun of me, I KNOW you know what I’m talking about. Walmart shoppers don’t care whose new car they slam their open car door into or shove their buggy into. So, go ahead and laugh at me for parking in the south forty where nobody else has parked so I can protect my new baby. Besides, the exercise is good for me. However, what really irritates the fool out of me is when I hike back to the car to find someone parked RIGHT NEXT TO ME, despite acres of empty spaces closer to the store. I just KNOW that person has deliberately slammed their door into mine. I zero in on the side of my car next to theirs and inspect it like a detective searching for a high-profile clue. I crouch, squint, and run my hand over the shiny exterior to ensure no scratch defiles my precious Corolla. I breathe a sigh of relief when the perceived scratch turns out to be merely a speck of dirt.

Speaking of specks of dirt, for a while, I rubbed off every dust speck, offended that it would dare to mar the beauty of my vehicle. Then we went out of town, and I came home to find my precious car covered in dust. But I don’t trust my new baby to the automatic car washes, so I will have to bathe it by hand. I will have to give it a gentle bath and rub out all the water streaks with a lint-free towel. I bought custom floor mats to keep the dirt and sand from the floor, and so far, the back seat mats have remained pristine. Perhaps I can keep people from riding in the back seat for the next twenty years or so.

My obsession is slowly mellowing, but not without resistance. The new car smell is fading, and to my dismay, I recently found a scratch on the passenger side door. That hurt. But even though my Corolla is no longer a virgin, I still made Hubby park in the back of Sonny’s Barbecue the other night. He had the audacity to roll his eyes and laugh at me for my protectiveness. That’s okay. At least I finally let him drive my new car to the restaurant.