We bought our first new car, and it’s a Mercedes, a “Baby Benz” 190E. We spent New Year’s Eve picking up the car and then sitting in it in the garage. Lou was appalled that the car didn’t come with floor mats but managed to get them included at the end. It was embarrassing to fiercely argue over something trivial like that at the dealership. I distanced myself from the mayhem by wandering around the dealership looking at other cars and mentally jamming to Janis Joplin belting out in my head, “Oh Lord, won’t ya buy me a Mer-ce-des Be-enz.” Getting financing was easy, since we are established now with the mortgage. It’s funny how having debt makes it easier to get deeper into debt. We’ve got Lou’s student loans, the mortgage, and now this car payment, but we are fine with both of us working full time. Lou’s using the car for business travel, because it’s more impressive for his clients to see him in the Mercedes than the Oldsmobile. I don’t care about flash, but it is bummer that the radio doesn’t work in my car for the hour-long commute each way.
We’re getting stuff done on the house, and it’s coming along nicely. The first thing to go was the bizarre disco bathroom wallpaper. We figure that if we can hang wallpaper together without killing each other we’re doing something right in this marriage. He’s such a perfectionist when it comes to the workmanship that he won’t let me do anything that shows, not even a first coat of paint. I’m more like an assistant to “hold this” or “bring that” because he knows what he’s doing, and I don’t. Except when it’s time to clean up. That’s always my job, and I’m an expert.