Car wives

You'll never have a date for a wedding. Your family meal together is breakfast because your husband hasn't had dinner with the kids on a weeknight since Christmas. Your vacations are all dealer prizes. Your month-to-month income chart looks like a series of McDonalds arches. Most people forget where they parked, you forget what car you drove to the store. Your adore the slightly puritanical law that disallows car dealership to be open on Sundays. You, my friend, are a car wife.

Before I was a car wife, I was a car kid. My dad worked nearly every Saturday of my life. As a matter of fact I held my own wedding on a Sunday because to me, Saturday is a work day. Most brides have nightmares about the dress not fitting or typhoons striking, but my big fear was a customer wanting to come in and my dad or my fiancé having to work a deal. Sunday wedding it was.

On Saturdays, my dad got up at the crack of dawn and shined himself up like a peacock before diving into the shark tank that is a domestic car dealership. He would reappear somewhat disheveled around 11:00 PM and spend Sundays mowing the lawn and doing other such dad stuff. (Football? I seem to recall lots of pot-roast-making.)

How that man did not drink, I will never know. Being a car salesman, a good one, I later found out, is a monster job. It's mentally and physically taxing and besides the relatively fabulous income, it's pretty thankless. For example, the stereotype of a car salesman, a guy who slaves up to 80 hours a week to provide for his family, goes like this:



While the stereotype of a doctor, who is probably a decent guy but might talk smack about your baby right in front of you, goes like this:


I'm just saying, maybe there are some jobs that require a little smoke and mirrors and come with an ego and it ain't just the car salesmen. My dad worked hard for us and still gets up at the crack of dawn to head to the dealership, although now it's because he's made friends with some ducks who like to eat bread crumbs.

After being a car kid, I was a car lady and eventually a car wife. I'll cover those in the rest of the Car Wives series. Until then, maybe I entertain you on the Car Wives Facebook page. It has one whole fan already. (Me, I am my only fan. Winner!)



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  • I'm a jewelry wife. Our situations are similar! Except he doesn't bring home big diamond rings for me to wear.:(

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