Spouse and I had to go shopping for a new car recently. New for us, that is, since our 2005 Chevy Impala bit the dust when it collided with a deer a couple of weeks ago. Thankfully, Spouse wasn’t hurt that night. I know my better half was wishing it had been my 2007 Ford Fusion — the car that’s given us the most grief. The Impala was the “good” car, as he would say, though I happen to be attached to my fussy Fusion.

The first thing you need to know is that Spouse and I stink as negotiators. When we walk into a situation such as a car dealership, we are sitting ducks. Last Saturday, we went on our first car shopping expedition. Within an hour we had chosen a car. What does this mean? It means that we also don’t understand what it means to just window shop.

We have learned a few things over the years about buying cars. For instance, when you’re looking and test driving, try not to drool over whatever you have your eye on. Oh, and don’t drive up with a nicer car than what you normally drive. We had a rental — a snazzy new sedan — when we shopped. It was a decade newer than our newest vehicle at home, making us look like we could afford something comparable. Back at home sat my ten-year-old car, rusting in the driveway, preparing to lose the brakes or engine or something vital any day now. Yes, this is the one I’m attached to.

Knowing the insurance company would be sending us a decent check that would pay for a chunk of the car made the purchase a little less painful. We were also reeled in by how nice the sales person was. He was helpful and informative but not pushy. He was also funny and friendly but not slapstick and he never tried to call me Girlfriend. I had someone do that once and I came perilously close to locking him in the walk-in closet of the timeshare he was trying to sell us.

Spouse and I sat down for the deal-making, prepared to be tough with our haggling and tight with our wallets. Instead, once we were handed the “final” figures we sputtered through the conversation and barely squeaked out a request for a small discount. In the end we still felt like we were walking (driving) away with a great buy, but we sure didn’t put the fear of mediation manipulation in anyone.

A few days later we picked up our new-ish car, all gleaming and shiny, gas tank filled, ready to roll. We both felt like kids with a new toy, sitting in our driveway reading the manual and testing different buttons and switches.

Earlier that same day, another non-negotiation was being celebrated. It was my last-ever visit to my hematologist who got me through my battle with leukemia. Besides my life mate (who would have moved into my hospital room if we didn’t still have a child at home), Dr. Ryan was The Person who spent months getting me to the point of remission ten years ago, fighting for my life even harder than I did at some points.

My emotional response to being told I didn’t have to make another annual appointment caught me by surprise. I got a bit choked up and tried to thank her for going to bat for me ten years ago, and we hugged. That was all, and it was glorious.

We all know the art of negotiation has its place. On this particular day, less negotiation gave us more wheeling than dealing, and a celebration of healing.

Janine Talbot recently published a story about her first kiss in “Laugh Out Loud: 40 Women Humorists Celebrate Then and Now… Before We Forget,” available through Amazon. She lives in southern Maine. Email Janine at [email protected].