We finally gave in and purchased a second vehicle for me to drive.

Did our research, saved our down payment, visited the dealership. Decided to buy the exact same make and model SUV we had before.

Newer year though. More bells and whistles. Like talking navigation and backup sensors to help me avoid kissing the guide poles at the drive-up ATM.

Even wanted the same color we had before. But Galaxy Gray wasn’t available.

If we waited, we’d miss the financing deal. And we’d continue sharing the truck.

“Isn’t there another color your wife would like?” the salesman asked my husband.

“Okay,” I said deflated. “White Diamond.”

I’ve only, always chosen neutral-colored cars. Black, white, gray. The maroon and gold Camaro was my dad’s idea and the Sahara gold truck was my husband’s.

“Or Dark Cherry is nice.”

The dealer couldn’t find White Diamond, but did acquire Dark Cherry. A red car. Maybe I could do this.

The day came. Dark Cherry arrived. “You’ll fall in love with it!” said the salesman.

I saw it. One word: burgundy.

“It looks burgundy,” I said.

“No, no,” said the salesman. “It’s red.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s more red than brown,” I said. “But it’s not true red.”

“Oh, that’s just dirt,” he said. “Let me have it washed and you’ll see it’s red.”

While we waited, I discussed the dilemma with my husband.

“You know I’m a Winter. Brownish-red is not my color. I would really feel more at home in gray.”

“Honey, Dark Cherry is your color,” said my husband. “It isn’t brown. It has blue undertones.”

I wanted a car. I didn’t want burgundy. Maybe it wasn’t burgundy. But it wasn’t red either.

“See?” said the salesman. “It’s red!”

Freshly-washed Dark Cherry glistened in the sunlight, casting out any hints of brown.

This is silly, I thought to myself. Grow up and be content with Dark Cherry. So I did.

Still, the whole color thing ate at me. Had I compromised too much? Gone along to get along? The stars were aligned: I was there, my husband was there, the car was there. How could I walk away?

In other news, one of my BFFs gave birth to her third child. She’d entered no man’s land—the first weeks of an infant’s life when you take care of baby and not much else.

Armed with my package wrapped in pink gingham, I drove to her house to deliver the gift. She cradled the baby while we caught up.

“And you got a car,” she said as she peeked out the window. “Look at the color!”

“Yeah,” I said. “I wanted gray but they didn’t have it.”

“It’s perfect,” she said. “I love that Cranberry.”

Yet another reason why she’s my BFF. How I’ll miss her when we move.

Hadn’t mentioned my angst over the intricacies of brown, burgundy and true red. Didn’t matter.

She saw the best and called it out. Named it. Reframed it. No more neutrals for me.

Now I’m quite taken with Cranberry. Decided to call her Mary. She has a bike rack for Cindy so the girls can be friends.

Cranberry Mary Momma Mobile. Watch out. Here she comes.

Like apples of gold in settings of silver is a ruling rightly given.
Proverbs 25:11 NIV

Linger awhile longer and enjoy The Cranberries with me. Anyone else think it’s ironic a group called The Cranberries filmed a music video in black and white?