Everything changes for a reason

My friend Betsy drives a very old Ford Taurus, circa 1998, that is when ever it's not in the shop.  Believe me, it is in the shop quite a lot.  She bought it used 8 years ago when her aging Oldsmobile, a car which was also spending a lot of time in the shop, unceremoniously died on the highway.  "I can't afford anything else," she lamented when she took ownership of the Taurus.  And, of course, the expenses started adding up the first year.  Four new tires were needed for it to pass the Pennsylvania state auto inspection.  Last year a the electrical system developed a short.  Two new batteries later, she still refuses to accept the fact that nothing will save it.  Tomorrow she's taking it to some guy who claims he can fix it.  I called and left her this message:  "So, tell me, does he also pull bunnies out of his hat?"  She did not find it funny.

And it's not as though she can't afford a new car payment, she can, though that's the excuse she uses.  She just singing that same old lament.  More precisely, I suspect, it has to do with change.  A new car would mean new buttons, new dials; she'd need to learn how to work the radio in order to listen to those AM talk shows she likes so much.  There are a lot of people out there who are just like Betsy; they need the 'same old, same old.'  I see it at the paint desk, people bringing in ancient cans of paint, long since dried up, labeled "hallway," or "living room," or "Johnnies bedroom."  This is something I don't understand.  I will be the first to admit I hold onto my vehicles for a long, long time, but the second I get a hint of an large, impending expense, you'll find something new sitting in my driveway.  Should I need to patch a spot of paint in my hallway, or living room, or where ever, I will repaint entirely and change the color while I'm at it.  I haven't a clue why someone would choose to live their lives in a changeless rut.