So, no soup for you. Foodie Friday will resume next week. If I've recovered.
Since I've been hopped up on all manner of drugs for the past seven days, I figured I was hallucinating when earlier this week Jason started talking about selling his Corvette. And then he kept talking about it and started calling around seeking offers. I haven't been hitting the NyQuil that hard, so I knew he must be for real.
Sure enough, last night we (well, he, since I had to follow in a second car to drive home in) took one last joyride to CarMax in Fresno. And just like that our hot rod became the property of... not us.
I officially feel old and way more like every other boring sensible car-driving family on this base. It's a buzzkill and I feel decidedly un-fancy, but it was for the best. Jason made the decisions all by himself from start to finish, and I could not be prouder of him for thinking about the future.
In the short term, we'll be able to pay off our furniture and Jason's TV. In the long term, we'll be saving enough money for a respectable down-payment on a nicely-appointed home that we'll be purchasing in a state that is not Massachusetts or California when Jason gets out of the Navy in three years.
The good stuff is on the horizon. I know that. But it is bittersweet to look in the garage and see my CR-V sitting there instead of this beauty:
Responsibility is a bitch, but at least we won't have to be renters all our lives.