When Life Gives You A Lemon

Driving in Singapore is a luxury. Well, not always.

- Melinda Murphy

I have a crappy car. A really crappy car. I shouldn’t complain, right? After all, I have a car in Singapore where what you fork out to buy a vehicle can buy you a yacht in other countries.

But here’s the deal: it’s a really crappy car. I first saw the notice on the message board at The American Club. “White Peugeot 206. Eight years old. $22,000. $11.5k PARF.” Wow. We could actually afford that and get back half our money in two years. Unlike many expats, a car is not part of our package.

Back home, I would have scoffed at this car. I test drove everything in the States before choosing my Lexus SUV. Here? I didn’t care. A car was a car. It didn’t matter if it was comfortable or cute or anything. It had four wheels and air con.

My husband wasn’t interested, not even a little. So I stepped up my pitch. I felt like I did in 5th grade when I campaigned to get my ears pierced. I dropped hints, many not-so-subtle. I begged. I cajoled. I explained I wanted a car to run the kids from sports to the mall without stopping home first to drop off equipment. Or to lug stuff to Girl Scout meetings. Or to Christmas shop without having to run home with bags between stores. Then, I begged some more. I even got my kids to ask. Dirty trick, I know.

Finally, he gave in and, a few days later, there it was: a little white Peugeot in the condo parking lot – and it was all ours.