April 30, 2009
So remember that new car? The one we were supposed to pick up last night, pack with six full-grown adults, and use to cruise comfortably into the sunset? The one with the leather seats? The one the iPod jack? The one that would do wonders for my street credit? The one that was a screamin' deal?
Yeah. Never mind.
The deal fell flat, and as usual, I'll graciously provide you with a handful of sketchy details. You know--just enough so you feel like you know me, but not enough for you to really understand my personal and confidential biznitch.
And no, it wasn't because we couldn't get a loan. Actually, if you must know, I have a credit score that's over 800 and and an income that's far beyond your wildest dream.
Fine. One of those claims is true.
The bottom line is this: We chickened out. My junk drawer calculator decided that we couldn't technically afford the car, and obviously, the Blazer still has a heck of a lot of life left in her.
So, for the second time in five days, loan docs were torn and crying ensued.
This life of mine? So freaking glamorous.