A rose by any other name would not cost so much

A local blogger and fellow writer had a post last week about her malcontent with her Ford Explorer. I'm having a similar trouble lately.

Before I had the ball of fire, I had this fabulous little red Honda civic. Two doors, six-disc CD player, moon roof, spoiler and 36 beautiful miles to the gallon. But after baby, all things change.

I once conked my head so hard on the low roof -- place baby in seat, stand up -- that I initiated a migraine headache that eventually made me throw up. I knew I needed to sell it, but I hated the thought. That car represented young, sexy, childless and car payment free days. I have great memories of that car. Memories I had to put aside for the benefit of my baby and my aching back, and therefore damn my misspent youth.

We are Honda people, through and through and the Honda gods had just come out with the Pilot. Oh how the hubby wanted a new SUV. He had a Ford Explorer when we dated but it died a horrible death, as all Fords do and we traded it in for the aforementioned cherry dream car. I negotiated, angled, jimmy-rigged and finally brokered a deal I could live with. Somehow, it became my car. And I hate it.

I hate hoisting myself and a 40 lb toddler into it every freaking day. I hate the 23 miles to the gallon, which translates in current gas rates to $50 a week. I hate that the maintanace on the thing starts at $300 and goes up.

Sure I can haul groceries in it, and every now and then some paving stones for the back yard. Yes, when pressured, it will seat up to seven. But are those benefits worth the delicious boil of hate I feel whenever I try to back it out of the garage? I believe not, but the hubby still has doe eyes.

I tried to reason with him. If we put one of my paychecks and the monthly car payment into the savings, we can afford to take that Mediterranean cruise that has taunted us for the past few years. He's sticking to his guns.

In the meantime, I find myself cruising the used car lot at the local Honda dealerships when I'm supposed to be at the gym. I'm starting to feel a little reckless. Next week, I might actually TALK to one of the car salesman.

Lord help us both.