I need to tell you about The Protagonist and her terrible taste in vehicles. The Protagonist is someone I know extremely well, which makes this story both educational and humiliating.

As I hurtle through middle age as an attractive corpse, I feel obligated to share this cautionary tale with the youth. Consider it community service.

In 2004, the Protagonist bought a 1984 Pontiac Fiero. If you don't know what that is, it was a really cool car—for 1984. For 2004, it was a twenty-year-old lemon, especially the one our feckless Protagonist purchased. This one was weathered and pock-marked with rust. The fuel pump didn't work, the brakes were shot, and it barely ran. But she loved this car and couldn't wait to get it road-worthy.

Her family warned her against such an expense. "Are you sure you want to do this?" we said. "This looks like a project."

"No, you see—I can't wait to get it running! It just needs a few things: some buffing, an oil change, and new brake pads. Eventually, we're going to go driving all over the place! It has so much potential."

"Okay," we relented. "If you're sure that's what you want to do."

Over the next four years, the Protagonist tried and failed repeatedly to keep that Fiero on the road. She replaced its fuel pump. She bought new brakes. She even tried a whole new paint job. But even after pouring thousands of dollars into it, that car found new ways to disappoint or enrage her. It would break down at the side of the road and refuse to budge. Or its brakes would fail and it would careen into things.

One day, she muttered, "That fucking car. All it does is cost me money. It's never going to run the way I want it to."

"No, I guess not," I said. "It's an old car and sometimes they're not going to run well."

Finally, in 2008—after a valiant four years of effort and money—she divorced that Fiero.

# 

Later that year, she found another car: a sturdy, dependable Jeep Wrangler. It was newer and actually ran, which already made it the most functional relationship she'd had.

We all were fond of the Jeep. It was pretty robust and sturdy; bigger and tougher. It ran, thankfully, and had all of its parts working. We went places in it and had fun driving around. The Protagonist appreciated its ruggedness, the sense of freedom it gave her.

But sometimes, the Jeep was a bit unstable. Like if the wind blew too hard, we got the feeling it would tip over.

The Protagonist would tell us, "Yeah, I was driving the Jeep drunk again the other night and tipped it over. My bad." And we'd go, "Are you sure you're okay? Maybe talk to someone about how often you drink and how often the Jeep tips over?"

"Thanks, but we're fine," she insisted.

In fairness to the Protagonist, she kept the Jeep for longer than any car. But ten years later, she decided she didn't want to renew her lease.

"Is it because of the tipping over issues?" I asked.

"No, it's because I'm bored with it." She shrugged. "And the radio only plays Jordan Peterson podcasts now."

Okay, that made sense.

# A couple of years passed. The Protagonist rented a few cars in that period. Then one day, she announced that she had purchased a big, dumb pickup truck

We were astounded. Of all the cars she had purchased, leased, and rented, this was her worst by far. The truck was a useless frame, wheel-less on cinder blocks in her front yard—no steering wheel, no driveshaft, no transmission, and no headlights. The truck had rolled down enough hills and driven into enough ditches that the chassis had broken and been welded together in several places. This wasn't a vehicle. She had essentially purchased a giant toolbox that she would be paying off for five years.

"What have you done?" I asked. "This isn't a fixer-upper. There's no driving this truck!"

"But I can get it started with some hard work!" she promised.

"There's no putting this together. You can't do anything with this. Don't waste your money."

"Well, I need something," she snapped, "because I'm going to have a baby and I need transportation. And it doesn't have to be perfect, it just has to go from point A to point B."

But that truck, as predicted, never left point A. It just stayed on cinder blocks, rotting in the front yard while rats ate what was left of the electrical system. The Protagonist tried shoving a transmission in it, but it wouldn't move without wheels. She bought it wheels, but it needed a driveshaft. She tried fixing every single part on that damned truck, but it didn't matter—it wouldn't budge from that front yard because its chassis, its body, the thing that holds it together, was damaged. It would never be reliable transportation.

So, the Protagonist took her baby and divorced that truck five years later. She was thousands of dollars poorer, but at least she didn't have a multi-ton rat's nest to deal with anymore.

 #

I read a lot of Reddit relationship advice posts—probably too many. Most are creative writing exercises or rage-bait for incels. But I think about the Protagonist (who I know intimately, unfortunately) and reconsider.

Romantic relationships are complicated. Sometimes you meet someone and knock it out of the park. You respect each other, you love each other, and when you argue, you work it out constructively. All relationships have bumps, but learning how to navigate them is the biggest challenge.

But sometimes, two people get roped together for a slew of reasons. My two least favorite are "the kids" and "because there might not be anyone else."

Staying together for the kids does no one any favors, least of all the kids. Children remember their toxic parents and that toxicity imprints upon them for the rest of their lives. Staying together because you're afraid you won't find anyone else, though, is doing a disservice to yourself. You might as well be falling down an elevator shaft because you don't want to take the stairs ten floors. Both will get you to your destination, but only one will get you there relatively unscathed.

And for God's sake, don't stay with someone for their "potential." People can grow, but you can't date a chassis and expect wheels to materialize. I've always been a shy, quiet introvert who'd rather do homework during football games. I've learned to enjoy gatherings, even football games. But I still feel that relief when I finally get home. That's never changed. That will never change. My partner knows this, accepts this, doesn't expect me to become a different model.

Don't buy the Fiero. Don't lease the Jeep that tips over drunk. And for God's sake, don't finance the pickup truck on cinder blocks just because you need transportation and it could work with enough effort.

It couldn't. It won't.

The Protagonist is still renting lemons. Maybe one day she'll figure it out.