Wednesday night:

9:15 pm: We fight.

Thursday:

7:12 pm: A text message from him: “Need to think about some things call you later.” No call.

Friday:

4:21pm, a text message from him: “I have to work tonight but maybe when I get off we can talk.”

6:32 pm: I rummage through the house and pack up everything that belongs to him. I put it in the back of Jeep so that whenever he says what I know he’s going to say, I can give it to him and be gone.

8:30 pm: I go out with the girls.

8:31 pm: I start to rant and rave along the lines of how-can-he-do-this-to-me and that-bastard-is-driving-me-crazy and I-know-it’s-over-I-just-know-it.

Saturday:

12:48 am: A text message from him: “Work was hell have to be back at 7am.”

1:15 am: A weepy voicemail from me, telling him that if he wants to break up he should just grow a pair and tell me.

1:48 am: A text message from him: “Love U”

11:15 am: A text message to him: “I really need to talk to you, please call me when you get off work.”

2:50 pm: He calls.

3:20 pm: I pull up to his house. He’s sitting on the porch, which is never a good sign because it means he doesn’t even want me to come inside. He’s wearing the shorts I bought him, which is a good sign because it means he hasn’t burned them. He gets in the car – apparently we are not going to have this conversation on the porch. We do not kiss hello. I just pull into the alley and drive up the hill, turn left and then right like we’re going to my house as usual.

“Before you say anything,” I say, “I’m sorry I yelled and said mean things on Wednesday. But you have to know that we were fighting when we were tipsy, about a hypothetical situation that we’re not even dealing with. We’re both always cranky if we fight when we’ve been drinking. And this thing we fought about isn’t even something we have to deal with.”

“I know. I just had to think about it. About a lot of things.” He won’t look at me.

“What are you thinking?”

“I don’t think I can marry you.”

Both eyebrows pretty much go up to my hairline. “Um, I didn’t ask you to.”

“But you want to get married.”

“Not NOW. Not even necessarily to YOU. I’d like to do that eventually but when I’m ready and whoever that is is ready, that’s when it will be. You know that. We’ve talked about that a hundred times.”

“I don’t think I can give you what you want. What you deserve.”

“And what is it that you think I want and deserve?”

“You deserve to have someone love you unconditionally, to give you everything, to be a husband. And a father.”

“I’ll tell you what I want. I want someone to love me unconditionally. Period. And you say you love me. So we could be going that direction. No one is off-course here.”

He’s gripping the roll bar tightly. “I do love you. I do. But we’re both so different – ”

“Oh God, THIS again.” Does it comes from the Boy’s Book of Excuses?

“We come from such different places and I think we want different things. Everyone has this idea of a perfect life,” he says. “I know you do.”

“I know we have different backgrounds. We knew that forever ago. But do you know even know what MY perfect life is, though? Do you think it’s beige siding and two and a half kids in the suburbs? Do you think I have to have what my parents have? You don’t know that my perfect life includes anything but that person to love. That’s it. That’s all I know I want FOR SURE right now.”

“I feel like I’m so selfish, that I can’t give you enough.”

This is where I start bawling. “You,” I gulp, “you have been the sweetest person to me. You have been so kind and thoughtful and you’re the only guy for years and years who has shown me what it means to love somebody. How can you say that you don’t give me enough?”

“But you do so much for me and I don’t feel like I deserve that.”

“I wouldn’t give you anything if you didn’t deserve it. And you deserve all of it.”

“I don’t feel like I do.”

“What have you done that’s so awful then?”

“I just don’t think I fit into the life you should have.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, thank you. Do you want someone to love you?”

“Yes.”

“And you love me?”

“Yes.”

“And you know I love you?”

“Yes.”

“Then you fit into this life. And what’s the problem?” My contacts have gotten all blotchy from crying and I pretty much can’t see at this point. “I don’t WANT to get married right now, so why is this even an issue? Is it because you can’t give me the things you THINK I want and deserve or because you just don’t love me enough?”

Silence. I almost drive off the road in frustration. He stares out the window.

You simply must read Part II now.

When I drive over to my parents’ house now, my dad usually slips me a twenty for gas because he knows that the Jeep is a guzzler and it gets expensive to visit them. I stopped at QuikTrip on the way home and put in the twenty bucks.

I realize that rising gas prices are nothing new, but sweet cracker sandwich – I got a measly five gallons off that twenty. That’s it. And as I watched the fuel gauge arrow crawl anemically up to the quarter-fill mark and stop, I saw bank and credit card statements flashing before my eyes. I felt physically sick for a minute.

Driving home past the string of car dealerships on the highway, I impulsively spun onto a side street when I saw a late-model Toyota parked in front of a used-car dealership and marked ridiculously low. It was seafoam green… Prius green? It had to be! And marked so low? I parked the Jeep around the corner where I couldn’t see it crying and trotted over. Too good to be true, as always – what had looked from the front like an older Prius was actually a 2007 Corolla with 24,000 miles on it and marked at $12995. It seemed like a good deal, so I inspected the sticker.

You know the rest. I was spotted by the sales staff and accosted. I should have done the brush-off, but couldn’t help telling the truth about the Jeep and the gas prices and why I had stopped to look at the Toyota. He was sympathetic, of course, and explained that the Corolla was so low because they had bought three fleet vehicles, all exactly the same, and they had to mark them down to get rid of them. It sounded reasonable. I inspected the inside: LE trim with all the bells and whistles the Jeep lacked. Power everything, wood trim, leather. I agreed to a test drive.

Now, I don’t wish to offend any Corolla owners, but honestly. It is just a Very Boring Car. I was completely put off by the fact that I was so low to the ground. Even my 2006 Scion xA (my last pre-Jeep car) sat me up higher – like the world’s tiniest SUV, as one friend put it. I felt short and helpless. The windshield curved up over my head and I didn’t like it. The vents were the rectangle sort where you move two knobs and still don’t get the air where you want it. And although the thing had good pickup and I had to stare through window paint reminding me that I was getting 35mpg, I was underwhelmed. I thought it would feel good to be thrifty and eco-conscious but it was almost as depressing as the gas pump.

I drove down the street and pulled into the Toyota/Scion dealer where I used to get the ‘06 serviced. That xA was a great car for gas mileage, comfort, cuteness, space, you name it. I’d wanted another Wrangler ever since my ex-fiance claimed custody of the ’01 we’d shared, but I don’t think I’d have gotten rid of the Scion and gone into the Jeep lease if I hadn’t had such a wretched breakup with Tim last year… my best friend refers to the Jeep as my rebound romance and she’s not incorrect.

So I started thinking about that Scion. The company stopped making xAs and replaced them with a model called the xD, which is stupidly less fuel-efficient than its predecessor – brilliant, at a time like this, isn’t it? I asked the salesman about pre-owned and they didn’t have anything. They get snapped up FAST – usually going for about $12500 right now, same as the Very Boring Car and in my price range. I’d have to flip the lease on the Jeep so money would be tight.

I wandered the lot and inspected the new Toyota Yaris, the 4-door version (infinitely practical) and the little 2-door. The 2-door looked like it could fly in space. The one in front of me was white and looked like a cereal marshmallow. I liked it. I like cute cars and I like having a hatchback and I generally do not care for sedans. But it was new, it was $13500 base (stick shift), and so on. I was offered 1.9% financing (which I know I will not qualify for) and given the list of practical reasons to go from my Jeep lease to a Yaris purchase. Gas being obvious, there’s also the fact that I’d actually be putting the money toward something I can keep and pay off. This is also tempting, as I grow ever-so-slightly more practical in my old age.

I left without driving it. When I got home, I took the top off the Jeep and went to pick up E. It’s a hell of a sunroof I’ve got right now.

10. When taking paint chips to the hardware store, don’t just tell them you need exterior flat paint and walk away to wait. Tell them you need the CHEAP exterior flat paint. Otherwise they will give you the flat paint used on the last space shuttle, and we all know how frugal NASA is.

9. A dog who suddenly has a lapse in housebreaking skills probably has a bladder condition that will cost $200 to diagnose.

8. Never attempt an intelligent discourse with your boyfriend when you’ve both been drinking an unnaturally blue concoction from cheap plastic cups at a seedy bar.

7. A cut-pile yarn shaggy rug feels curiously like grass to a dog with a bladder infection.

6. Actually, any rug feels like grass to a dog with a bladder infection.

5. A forty-pound bag of mulch weighs forty pounds when someone at the garden center is loading it into the car.

4. The house really doesn’t look too bad without any rugs in it.

3. Bags of mulch will miraculously double in weight during the drive home from the garden center, as if they could sense that your boyfriend is at work and cannot carry them to the backyard in a manly fashion.

2. The backyard shed looks much better with a coat of paint. Bonus points if you are painting on a windy day and the paint glues down a few grass clippings, some of your own hair, and an assortment of both live and dead bugs.

1. It doesn’t matter if it puts you into overdraft, there is no better investment than a steam cleaner and a wheelbarrow.