When my ex and I first separated, I made several poor financial decisions. Within two weeks of his asking for the divorce, I was in the process of buying a house. At the time this seemed empowering. He earned almost three times as much as I did, so to demonstrate that my income and credit rating qualified for a mortgage felt like a necessity. By the first of October (we had the conversation Labor Day weekend), I was signing papers and packing boxes.
Looking back, I wish someone had told me to take some time and rent for a while. I bought the house in 2005. Less than a year later I was moving out of town. Remember the housing market in 2006? Yeah, I didn’t sell the house for almost two years and eventually had to settle for a short sale, which ravished my credit rating.
As much as I regret the decision to buy a house, I don’t regret my other incredibly bad financial decision: I traded in a one-year-old, paid-for car on a new Jeep Wrangler. I took on a car loan and really poor fuel mileage, but also fulfilled a life-long dream.
Remember The Dukes of Hazard? I am convinced my obsession with Jeeps is Daisy Duke’s fault. One of the few female characters I remember from childhood, Daisy embodied sex appeal and sass. She could keep up with the boys, charm the bad guys, rock the short-shorts, and drive a manual transmission. I begged my dad all through high school to buy me a jeep. Not happening.
During the early stages of our dating, Hubs and I went looking for a new truck for him. He was set on buying a Dodge Ram, and Dodge dealers are typically Jeep dealers also. After I mentioned my thwarted dream, Hubs said he thought owning a Jeep would be fun. Finally, someone who didn’t think I was out of my mind. That little bit of encouragement was all I needed; a month or so later I was in a 2006, school-bus-yellow, extended length Jeep Wrangler.
My boys, two and five at the time, called the Jeep my “super hero” car. In this bad-ass contraption I felt as sexy and powerful as Daisy Duke, and it must have shown. While I was cleaning the Jeep at a car wash, a biker-type older man began flirting with me. This was not a normal experience for me. At all.
Another unexpected benefit of owning the Jeep was the “cred” it gave me when I began teaching in a rural school. Just as my tattoos had impressed my urban students, my Jeep with 30-inch off-road tires wowed the truck-driving country boys.
Unfortunately, the equation of 15 miles-per-gallon times $4 a gallon times 1,500 miles a month equaled more than I could afford. My gas expense was as great as most people’s car payments. Hard as it was, I realized I had to “cut my losses” and make a more practical purchase.
That was almost five years ago. My heart breaks a little every time I see a Jeep, especially a yellow one. While Hubs plots for the day he will be able to invest in a classic muscle car, like a GTO, I have no such desire. Nope, no sports cars—old or new—for me. When my children are grown and I have discretionary income again (yeah, right), I’ll be looking for Jeep and heading out mudding.
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