When I was in college I bought my first car. The first car I actually owned was a hand-me-down from my parents (a 1988 Nissan Stanza to be exact, not exactly a pimp ride), but it’s life ended my senior year and I needed a replacement. At the time I was in a bit of an extended fight with my dad and we weren’t speaking at all. So when it came time to buy my car, I had to rely on my limited knowledge of automobiles in order to get the best deal on a used car that would see me through graduation. Normally this was a task that I would have heaped on my dad's shoulders; after all, Dads are the people you turn to in times of vehicular crisis. Mine wasn’t there, so I went at alone. What did I end up with? A 1993 Volkswagon Jetta. With 250,000 miles already on it. But it was teal! And the guy who sold it to me was 18 and tan!
Needless to say, it was one of the more traditionally "girly" decisions of my life and I paid for it. The car had major clutch problems within months and just BARELY made it through the year. When it came to buying a car, I needed a man’s help. As sexist and as backwards as that may sound, I need one now too.
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In a similar story, when I first started dating my ex, I was making a tiny salary, living in an even tinier apartment, and had a credit card bill bigger than both. Then I found out that I had a years long outstanding balance on a Victoria's Secret card I had opened in college. I probably bought one bra with it, but since the interest had grown to the point where I owed a couple hundred dollars—and they were threatening to bring in a collection agency. These were doing my pre-panic attack medication days, so I was a blubbery, stressed out mess. I got a call from my then new boyfriend, now ex-fiance, told him my sob story and he offered to help.
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