It was an ordinary Tuesday. Nothing unusual happened walking to Starbucks for coffee with friends. We discussed the day’s big event, a scheduled oil change for my aging Toyota, to be followed by breakfast at Baja Cafe.
Back home after Tuesday coffee, I drove to my car’s service spot and waited for Dan to pick me up for a snickerdoodle pancake or Wyatt Earp benedict.
Perhaps I overheard a conversation about a 2006 Prius for sale.
“I’ve always wanted a Prius,” I said to anyone listening. “But it’s not to be. I’ll go through life with my good old car.”
“The Prius is behind that big bush over there. Go take a look at it,” said the service manager with the Boston accent who’s taken care of my car for nearly twenty years. I trusted him. I strolled over to my dream car.
It was the same Cape Cod blue as the former OZmobile, my Honda Civic I drove for years in Maine, amassing 179,000 miles through ice and snow, hauling books to conferences I was speaking at, running off the road into a snowbank when I was pregnant with Ethan in 1980.
The Prius color matches the Tucson sky. “It was meant for me,” I mused.
Over breakfast at the Baja Cafe, Dan researched my dream car. “It’s a good deal,” he said. “I’ve listened to you talk about wanting a Prius for years. Get it.”
So I did.
How often I’ve joked that being a grownup meant owning a car with a beeping key, never imagining it would happen. Finally, I’m a grownup on this ordinary Tuesday that magically transformed into a surprising, thrilling, very good day.
*Know a leftie progressive who will buy a 1999 Toyota Corolla?