Over the weekend, I leased a new car—a white Kia Soul—with help from my wonderful parents. We have always named our cars in this family, but I was struggling to come up with a clever name for this one, in part because a white soul just seems doomed to be racist or privileged or something awful. (Hashtag all cars matter.)
Yesterday, though, my dad made a joke about lining up insurance for "Snow White," and I'll be damned if it isn't the perfect name.
I've often been called Snow White because I have extremely pale skin. Snow White was the first Disney movie I ever watched, shown at the local library when I was very young. And as the story goes, Snow White had to flee one awful situation only to find herself betrayed a second time, which is tragically close to my own story right now.
I'm driving the car to Tennessee on Friday, escaping to live in a small home in the woods. Maybe I'll decorate my patio with seven garden gnomes for extra protection as I wait for my prince to find me.