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Today is the day my husband E has been dreaming about since September.

Today he picks up our new car.

Now getting a new car is always exciting, but for us it’s an especially big deal because we haven’t bought a new car in, hmmmm, I think 13 years. Yeah, 13 years.

Our last two cars were purchased second-hand from E’s mom. They were fine, serviceable, low-mileage, four-door sedans. The last one even had bells and whistles we probably never would have splurged on if we’d bought a new car, so in our modest household, it was practically a luxury vehicle. But, at the risk of sounding petty, they weren’t OUR cars. We didn’t bond with them in that strange metaphysical way that people bond with the cars they pick out—you know, giving them names, assigning them personalities, seeing them as an extension of the family. (What? You don't know what I'm talking about? Y'all are lying...right?)

After a summer of wrestling with trying to get our American-made car serviced here in Belgium, E started thinking of buying a European car. Soon he was in touch with some dealers, bringing home car brochures, and Googling endlessly in the evenings. Before long he had his heart set on a mid-size Volvo wagon, and he began poring over options and features with all the anal retentiveness you’d expect from a middle-aged engineer.

Mostly I was an observer during the car-shopping phase, though after E took me for a test drive in the Volvo model he was considering, I noted that it didn’t have cup holders. Cup holders! That feature was invented in the land of long highways, big commutes, fast food restaurants, and 24-hour stores selling takeaway coffee and Slurpees. Cup holders are not standard equipment in Europe where eating and drinking in the car is unthinkable. If a European is going to have a cup of coffee, he’ll be drinking it from a dainty cup WITH a saucer and sitting at a table with a napkin in his laps. By God, only hyperactive, barbaric American road hogs eat and drink in their vehicles as if eating is an afterthought, a necessary evil to be wedged in between appointments and cell phone calls.

But I digress.

As I was saying, my only contribution to the whole car-buying process was telling E to make sure the car had a place for me to stash a water bottle. In the end, E ordered all sorts of options and accessories, including a special lumbar support pillow for my back and pocket organizers for the kids' stuff. See why I married him? What a guy!

But I get another perq as well. Regular readers know we are a one car family here in Belgie, and that for the past two years, I've used public transit to get around. Every few months you can count on a post detailing some horrible experience involving walking in blowing rain, getting splashed by passing cars, missing bus or Metro connections, and spending an hour or two getting to a place that’s a 15 minute drive from house.

Depending on the bus schedule, I’m always either very early or a bit late for my appointments. I spend obscene amounts standing around—waiting, waiting, and waiting. I have built my entire wardrobe around public transit, from my dozen jackets and coats suited to every permutation of Belgian weather to my many pairs of comfortable and boring shoes, designed to traverse miles of cobblestones and urban sidewalks, often at an accelerated clip. (Must. Make. The. Bus. Or. I. Will. Have. To. Wait. An. Hour!). Even my handbags are required to be lightweight, waterproof, and have an easy-access pocket for my bus or Metro pass Plus I have a selection of backpacks, tote bags, and rolling duffles to help me when I go shopping and have to schlep my purchases home.

But now I’m a free woman. Since there isn’t much of a market for our American model car here, we’ve decided to just keep it. Yes, the annual taxes on it exceed the value of the car itself, but now I won’t have to go out in driving rain or bitter cold. I won’t have to grapple with back pain because I dared to buy milk and canned goods at the store, forgetting how heavy those bags would become as I walked home. I will be able to make quick trips to the grocery store on my own and buy whatever we need. I’m dizzy with freedom.

But don’t expect long posts about places I’m exploring on my own in Belgium. It’s a land of narrow winding roads, unmarked streets, traffic circles, five-way intersections, random parking, and the confusing and dreaded rule of priority right (where all cars entering the road from the right side have priority over the cars already on the main road). Belgium has one of the highest (if not the highest) traffic fatality rates in Europe. Driving is a free for all. The otherwise low-key Belgians like to create their own lanes, play chicken, and drive drunk. No, I won’t be venturing out onto the highways or wandering far from home, but at least I’ll have the option of staying warm, dry, and wearing high-heeled boots while I’m out running errands in my village this winter. Merry Christmas to Me!