Introducing the 2010 Cupcakemobile

         My cherished bride of what seems an eternity, (albeit one that flew by faster than a flat-out Ferrari) my sweet Cupcake, has many wonderful qualities. Besides being an able administrator for a company at the airport, she’s also a fine cook, craftily creative, and a dab hand with a sewing machine (for new items only, mind you, the clothing in the mending pile has gone in and out of fashion four times).
        However, there’s one area Cupcake is sorely lacking. There is a skill she is so bad at, she actually lets me take charge. That skill is car shopping. Here’s an example of Cupcake’s negotiating strategy with a car salesman.Salesman: Here’s one you’ll like; it’s not black.
Cupcake: I LOVE IT! I WANT IT I’LL PAY ANYTHING FOR IT!!
Me: Oh no!
       Salesman: Mwahahahahaha!
       It was this exact strategy that, a few years back, forced us into the purchase of a four wheeled pile of feces, the brand I will charitably leave unmentioned, although, I’ll admit, it wasn’t black and did have a sunroof. Cupcake thought it was “cute” despite the fact it was lousy on gas for a car that looked like it was swiped from a L’il Tykes Gas and Go Garage set.
        I’d eyed the interest rate it was bought at, the years left to pay and the current market value. I then factored in the reality that things have begun to go haywire with it. (It cost about a grand to find out the problem causing the “check engine” light to go on was, ultimately, a flaw in the “check engine” light.) Logically, I came to the conclusion it was time to make a change.
         Trying to select a vehicle was going to be a chore, however. Since we owed more than the car was worth, we would have to tack the difference onto the new car loan. To offset that, though, we’d be trading a loan at over 8% on a six year old car to 2.49% for a brand new one. Another strong motivator was that winter was coming and her poop-mobile is colder than a serial-killer’s smile.
          When I told Cupcake of what I’d decided, she was cautiously excited. She itemized the “must haves” that any prospective vehicle would be equipped with.“My needs are really simple,” she asserted nobly. “I just has to have an automatic transmission, a decent heater and for it not to be black.”
           Cupcake once had a black van and she’d swelter in it in the hot days of summer, something anyone living here for less than eighteen months would not have yet experienced. She argued her anti-black vehicle stance by pointing out how all of her subsequent vehicles have been white and she never had another in-car crematorium problem.
           Telling her I’d made sure all her subsequent vehicles had air conditioning following her overheated van experience was for naught. Logic rarely works on Cupcake. She remained undeterred. No black vehicles. Period.“Oh, and also,” she hastily added, “I need it to be higher off the ground; like a van or an SUV but I don’t want a truck.  It has to get good gas mileage and have a long lasting warranty. It has to have cruise control and a CD/MP3 stereo and keyless entry and...”
          “Woah, woah, woah!” I broke in on her in panic. “Do you think a loans manager is made of money? What happened to ‘I don’t care as long as it’s not black’?”
          “Well, you asked,” she maintained haughtily. “If you don’t want to make me happy, that’s fine.”
           Being married this long, I knew it wasn’t fine. I listened for a half an hour to the rest of her “simple needs”. Since she has the shrewd poker face of a five year old, I made my initial foray to the dealership alone. No sense getting her all fired up if a new vehicle isn’t in our budget. I will admit, however, my heart raced (outwardly controlled, of course) when I sized up the model I had researched. After a discussion with the salesman, I called Cupcake.
          “It’s got more bells and whistles than an obsessive model railroad fancier,” I told her enthusiastically, “All the things you want plus everything else you can think of. It would be perfect for you and I am sure I can beat them down to a price we can live with.”
          “Oh, Honey, thank you!” Cupcake squealed with joy. “I have to ask though.... what colour is it?”
          “Oh... ahh... errrr.... uh...” I frantically groped for the most tactful way to describe it but finally decided on the truth. “Well, it’s not black... more of a... well... to be honest, a ‘baby poop after eating squash’ colour. ‘Burnt orange’ would be my closest guess, but it’s brand new, fully loaded, has a 5 year warranty and is only a few bucks more a month than we are currently paying for your four-door Fridgidaire.”
          “BABY POOP!” Cupcake gulped. “Really? Baby poop?”
          Then there was silence.
          “Well...” she finally responded heartily. “I like babies!”
         She’s already named it “Punkin”.