New car?

Mom gets in, asks when I got a new car.

I explain that the car isn’t new, that I’ve owned it for a decade.

She insists that it must be new. “This is not your car, Michael.”

I drive, she keeps up the pressure.

“Well, I’ve never been in this car before,” she says.

“I don’t have a record or anything, but I’m pretty sure you’ve been in this car at least one hundred times.”

“Are you kidding? You’re kidding, right? This is a new car.”

“It’s old. Do you see a Bluetooth in here?”

“I don’t know what that crap is, Michael. But I know you’re messing with me; this is a new car.”

We stop at the light. I point to the odometer.

“Coming up on 100,000 miles,” I say. “Definitely not a new car.”

The light changes. We drive in silence for a couple of blocks.

“Well, something is different.”

“I cleaned it recently.”

“That’s it! Without all your crap everywhere I didn’t recognize it.”

“So it’s like a new car?”

“Oh shut up, Michael.”

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