Here at Show + Tell, we had the pleasure of having a gal we adore, Mia Freedman ‘On The Couch’ recently. The the very same Mia Freedman that I idolised while studying Journalism, and later would stare at adoringly (a little creepy, I know) when we were in the same lift at ACP Magazines while I worked as writer and she was a big wig.
So, it’s fair to say I thought she was the bees kness. It and a bit. To have her on ‘our couch’ was a pretty awesome moment for me. I wanted to impress her.
Our interview with Mia was incredibly moving, she was beyond candid and honest. I cried both happy and sad tears during the interview (If you haven’t seen the video series, click here). It all went very well, and besides the fact we use Monty’s son Bax’s highchair as the camera tripod for our interviews, I’m pretty sure she thought we had a cool set-up going on.
Then it happened.
Mia was staying in a Hotel for a few nights not far from my house. Just when we were about to call Mia a cab, Monty jumped in and told her I would drive her home. All I could see was black. I gave Monty a look, how could she do this to me?? As soon as she caught my face mid-spasm, she knew. She had just thrown me under the bus of how to unimpress.
My car. My immature, messy, filthy, embarrassing , diet-coke can filled car. I know what you’re thinking, and no, I am not saying this in the way women often tend to always apoligse for their car, ‘please excuse the mess’, or ‘sorry, it needs a good clean’ or, ‘please mind the empty water bottles’ kind of way.
This was serious.
Serious in a can’t-see-the-floor or any-of-the-seats-other-than-driver’s-seat kind of way. Everything about my car says that I am a mess and my life is a mess. The outside wasn’t much better, it had as many dents as my ego at this point. I was mortified. The last thing I wanted was for Mia to get in my car and forever remember me as the girl who clearly didn’t have her s**t together.
Of course she brushed off the first meeting with the car as no biggie as she tried to find a spot to sit and a place to put down her feet – neither were possible. At the end of the trip she even thanked me for the lift. Is she serious?
I got home and told my husband that I’d given Mia lift. His response? ‘not in your car I hope?’ Thanks for your support.
My lesson? I don’t need that Camilla and Marc dress or the rug that costs a month of my mortgage repayment. I need a new car. I need to navigate my life in a more suitable, grown-up vehicle. Pronto.
Tell me I’m not alone…How would you describe the state of your car?