*Note: Yes, I know that the photo-shopped picture is cheesy...courtesy of my dear, creative mother.*
When people ask me what car I want to drive in the proverbial “someday”, I think they expect a normal response.
Perhaps they want me to tell them that I would just love to get a Jeep, Dodge Ram, or Lambhorghini. And I usually tell them exactly what they want to hear (I always say Jeep, by the way).
But the truth is a lot more stupid and a lot less normal than that: my dream car is actually waiting in the yard outside my house right now.
It’s name is Prince Charming.
And it just happens to be a 1999 Honda Odyssey mini van.
Prince Charming’s dark green sides are scratched and dented. His cruise control doesn’t work. A weird buzzing sound comes from him whenever he gets turned on.
But, hey, look on the bright side! Prince Charming gets a lot of miles per gallon. He’s old, but he sure is dependable. He even has four doors with four working handles (which is more than he used to have…)!
I tell you what, Prince Charming is my dream car…and I love him.
I have been pleading with my dad for months now:
“Hey, Dad,” I might say, “once I get my license, Prince Charming is mine right?”
“No, not yours,” my dad responds carefully, “but he can be yours to drive.”
This is where the conversation usually ends, with me rolling my eyes and telling myself that someday Prince Charming will be mine…even if my name isn’t exactly on the paperwork.
But no matter what my feelings are for Prince Charming, sometimes there are times when I wonder if he likes me back.
Like the time when he failed my driving test before I even got a chance to take it.
It happened like this: My dad and I waited at the DMV. We finally got to the woman at the desk. We filled out all the paperwork. I took the (absolutely stunning) picture that I’m now stuck with on my license for the next six months.
The DMV lady was dark, short-haired, and wiry. Her mouth was drawn into what seemed like a permanently thin and straight line.
All in all, she seemed like a very, very no-nonsense woman.
I was feeling pretty nervous when she finally told me, “Go turn on the car, and wait until I get there.”
I sat in Prince Charming and waited.
Finally the woman strode out, her walk brisk and uncompromising. She pulled a mask up over her face and looked down at me through Prince Charming’s open window.
“Follow what I tell you to do,” she said curtly.
I nodded, thoroughly nervous.
Then came a string of commands, “Turn on your lights. Turn off your lights. Turn on your right blinker. Turn off your right blinker. Turn on your left blinker. Turn off your left blinker.”
Off and on. Off and on.
I did what she commanded, my anxious brain trying to find the right levers and my clumsy fingers clutching the correct ones.
Then, the woman’s voice sounded again from behind the old car.
“Mash the brake!” I mashed it.
“Mash it again!” I did so.
“Are you mashing it?” Yes, I was.
The matter-of-fact woman turned to my dad who was standing a few feet away.
“Left brake light is out,” she said. She informed us that I couldn’t take my driving test until Prince Charming was fixed.
All that nervousness! All that fluttering-of-heartedness! All that waiting and wondering and studying!
I hadn’t failed my driving test.
My car had failed it for me.
At that moment, I was pretty sure that Prince Charming did not like me. But, a week later, we went back and I passed my driver’s test with flying colors (okay, maybe not with flying colors…more like by a hair’s breadth…)!
Perhaps Prince Charming knew something that I did not.
Perhaps I would have failed my driving test if I had taken it that day.
Perhaps Prince Charming is just very fickle in his affections.
All I know for sure is that Prince Charming is much older and wiser than I.
No Jeep or Ram or Lambhorgini could be better (in my exceedingly professional and unbiased opinion).
Which is why the old Honda Odyssey is still my dream car.
A fulfilled dream now, I suppose.
Prince Charming, my dream-car-turned-reality, is waiting in my yard.
-- Karis Anne