I napped a total of seven hours yesterday. Today, I feel more like myself than I have in two weeks; I can even take a deep breath without coughing and I managed to go over a chapter of The Teenager’s Driver’s Ed course book with the child without tearing my hair out, braiding it into a rope and strangling her with it. Seriously, I don’t remember Drivers Ed being this complicated when I was a teen and, while one might argue that this is because I didn’t take Driver’s Ed as a teen; I still think it’s pretty damn complicated.
Also complicated? Finding an inexpensive used car to purchase as a third family vehicle, I mean; when did twenty-year old beaters become so valuable? Are they crafted of gold? Are the seats stuffed with hundred dollar bills? Is the paint comprised of crushed diamonds? What. Is. The. Deal?
To be clear, the car (assuming we ever locate one), is not meant as a birthday present for The Teenager despite her fervent wish that we Make it So. Unfortunately, since she has given us no additional ideas for appropriate gifts to mark the occasion of her fifteenth birthday; we are scrambling. And, while it would certainly be easy to simply throw our hands in the air and say “Fine! Consider the car a gift!” that is hard to do when a) one cannot find a car to purchase and b) one is morally opposed to buying one’s child a car for their birthday.
So, sorry Teenager; you’ll have to settle for a gift card from Hollister. Oops! Spoiler!
In my defense, while a gift card may seem like an impersonal gift to receive from one’s parents on the occasion of one’s fifteenth birthday, a gift card from Hollister is an exception due to the fact that the mere process of obtaining said card requires one’s parent to risk three out of five senses, indeed; the possibility of one’s parent leaving Hollister deaf, blind and with a highly diminished sense of smell is practically a given and, what price does a child place on her parents’ senses? Well? What price?
Let’s just say; a smart child would agree that the price is considerably higher than that of a used car. Or, let’s not since, then a smart child could argue that the used car would be a more practical gift.
I am screwed either way. This is what we get for raising such a smart child. Damnit.