So The Husband and I are now the proud owners of a black 2008 Honda Civic LX. For a sedan, it’s pretty sexy, even if I’m not particularly interested enough to be able to identify different sedans by their silhouettes. I’ll leave that particular oddity up to The Husband, who is much better at it than I, having had the benefit of much practice. Should I ever need to identify a car that ever so vaguely resembles a cockroach, I have his brain to pick at my leisure.
Oh, and it’s also manual transmission.
I was brave enough to take a toodle around the Honda parking lot after The Husband test drove it, and did not stall. The clutch is much friendlier than his grandmother’s twenty year old Chevy Blazer which formed my first experience with a stick shift last Christmas.
I know it seems odd to buy a car I can’t drive, but I’ve never been able to back down from a challenge in my life. And when Weshea “Fancypants” Simpson asked me how I would escape from a mass murderer if my only escape route was a stick shift and I couldn’t drive one, I told him I’d manage (which he didn’t believe. Punk.) but decided that driving manual is something I should be able to do. Just like converting Celsius to Fahrenheit in my head, and driving a pneumatic hand truck without banging into things, and isolating RNA. Life skills.
Besides… this way when I finally get my Mini Cooper, I’ll be proficient at standard and can test drive it myself. And I don’t have to worry about ruining my baby’s transmission with the learning.
The car is currently nameless, we’ll have to drive her a little before we decide on something.