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This evening I learned that the story of Jack and the Beanstalk is basically about sex. (As Joey on Blossom used to say, “Whoa!”) Remember how Jack gets sent to the market to sell their cow, Milky White, and he trades it for magic beans instead? Well, apparently Milky White represents the mother’s milk, the dependency of the child on his parents. The beans represent Jack’s personal seed, his puberty, his coming of sexual age. And the beanstalk? Well, that’s Jack’s penis. Oh my, look how it grows!

Take all the time you need to process this information.

This afternoon I was on the phone four different times regarding the car accident I was in last week. The first phone call was minutes after I woke up, and I don’t mind saying the lady at Allstate was a bitch. Uh, ma’am, I don’t feel as if I’m in good hands right now. Maybe she was doing her job, but she was rude. I realize a lot of people take advantage of the system, but it sucks to have the shit knocked out of you first by a car, and then by an insurance agent.

The good news is that after the company made an offer for my totaled car, I countered, and today we compromised at seventy percent of the difference in my favor. So I’m getting ninety-four percent of what I asked for. Or, as the rude lady on the phone said, “You will IF we accept liability.”

“Oh,” I said. “Is that still a question?”

The next lady I talked to was my specific case manager, and she was delightful–also doing her job, but delightful. She explained that liability had not been accepted only because they hadn’t spoken to their client yet, the gentleman who hit me. So that’s just standard. She also said that they gave me a rental car prematurely, but not to worry about it. But then she called back and said, “You might want to worry about it–take it back until we’ve decided for sure that we’re liable. Otherwise you might have to pay for it yourself.”

“Well shit.”

So I put on my shoes and was about to walk out the door, but then she called back–like–it’s me again, Margaret. “Okay, don’t worry! I spoke with our client. You don’t have to take the car back. You’re good to go.” I said, “Thank you!” and thought, If we talk one more time today, I’m going to feel obligated to invite you to my wedding.

Amongst everything else, the lady and I talked about how reimbursement for the car would work, how medical coverage and payment would work, and how she’ll be calling every seven to ten days to check up on my progress. Meet my new best friend, the insurance agent. The next time she calls I’m going to ask who her celebrity crush is. Just based on her phone personality, I’m going to guess she’d say Taye Diggs, and I could definitely support that. Me too, girl. Me too.

Despite the fact that things are going as well as possible, I’m really anxious to have it all settled, get the reimbursement check, and purchase a new car. (I picked one out yesterday, and it’s being held. Details will be forthcoming. Now you can be anxious with me.) Additionally, spending all that time on the phone today–being a damn adult–wore me out. I always feel like I’m on the defensive in these situations, watching out for every dollar. (It’s not like I have a goose that lays golden eggs over here!) And I hate that. I’d much rather assume the best of people and trust everyone. I’d also much rather have a goose that lays golden eggs.

This evening I felt like I needed to do something for me. So for the first time in over six months, I drove my antique car, a 1977 Mercury Comet. It’s name is Garfield (because it’s orange, duh). Y’all, I’m not a car person, but I’m a THAT CAR person. I LOVE Garfield. I got him in 2005, the same year I opened my dance studio, and he’s perfect for spring, summer, and fall evenings, since he doesn’t have working air conditioning. But he’s super handsome, has a V8 engine, and gets lots of compliments from old guys at gas stations. (Ooh-la-la.) Honestly, he’s one of my favorite possessions–ever.

Last year when I had my estate sale, I decided it was time to say goodbye to Garfield. It took a while, but I made peace with the idea, especially since I thought the extra money would help get me to Austin. Well, the sale came and went, but no one made an offer on Garfield. So for the last several months, he’s sat in my parents driveway collecting dust and working on a nice case of tire-rot. Every time I see him, I think I need to spruce him up, put him on Craigslist. But I’m always afraid he won’t sell or won’t sell for “enough,” and that makes me afraid that I’ll never get to Austin. Basically it’s been easier to pretend he’s not there.

But because I’m always happy when I’m driving him, I got him out tonight–checked his fluids, aired up his tires. I said I was going on an errand, but because I drove the back roads, it took an hour and a half to buy two bags of coffee. The wind in my hair, the roar of the engine, the weight of the all-metal car barreling down the road–I loved every minute of it. However, there was a faint feeling of sadness, like you might get if you were having lunch with your best friend and you knew it was one of the last times. Maybe one of you is moving and can’t take the other. You both know it’s best, you know you can’t stay together forever, but you don’t really want to say goodbye either.

When Jack climbs the beanstalk, he’s confronted by the representation of his parents, the giant and his wife. This imagery represents Jack growing up, becoming an adult. Once or twice the giant’s wife protects Jack, hides him in an oven or whatever. Here the oven represents one’s desire to not grow up, but rather return to the womb.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, how nice it would be to be a child again, to be protected, to be taken care of. Isn’t that part of the reason we love fairy tales? Doesn’t everyone want someone to sweep them off their feet, some charming partner with whom to live happily ever after in a world without car wrecks and bitchy insurance agents? But obviously, that’s not the way it works, and some days being an adult is almost more than you can handle. (I don’t recommend being one if you can help it.) Of course, you can’t go back and be a kid again, at least not permanently. Maybe you get a few moments here and there, an hour free of responsibility, your foot on the gas of an antique car. But eventually you have to grow up and face your giants. Sooner or later, we all say goodbye.