" Are you sitting down?" the mechanic asked, and I knew I was in trouble. I chuckled nervously and told him to shoot. By the time he took a breath, the bill to get my old Buick running again was over $ 4,000, and I suddenly felt like someone considering whether to take a close relative off life support. A decision had to be made, but I wasn't prepared to make it.

So I called my financial adviser -- my dad. Instinct told me not to spend $ 4,000 on a car as old as mine, but I needed confirmation. I thought back to all the times I had wished for a new car, and wondered if I had just willed the current car dead. It was a bad time for a lesson in the power of negative thinking.

The new car I'd always imagined was a driver's dream, well appointed and stylish, with an engine best suited for an autobahn. But finances forced me to be rational. A terrifying thought flashed through my head: "A '72 Pinto can't be that bad . . . "

My dad offered to do some shopping for me. He's always been more frugal than I, trained to look at Buicks rather than BMWs. With Dad doing the searching, I had a better chance of staying within my price range.

In a couple of days, he reported back. Given that I couldn't afford to spend more than $ 42 a month, he was having trouble making it happen. But there was hope: a small Dodge, new, with an interest rate that added almost nothing to the price.

I'd never been a fan of this car. It seemed to have a face, like a cartoon car, and its record of reliability made it the Gen-X slacker of the automobile universe. But considering my options, I decided I'd better resign myself to buying in the below-luxury market. Besides, isn't Dodge now a close cousin of Mercedes-Benz?

I went to the Dodge website and checked the available options and styles and thought about what upgrades would be necessary to make the car bearable. Surfing, I discovered that the new 2000 styling was nowhere near as offensive as the old. And maybe that silver-grey would actually make it look sporty. The bigger tires would definitely add some heft to a car that ordinarily looks like it's just a step ahead of a moped on the evolutionary chain. So I dashed off an e-mail to my dad asking him to look for the silver-grey finish and the bigger tires.

At work the next day I got his response: "How about forest green and the smaller tires?" It was like asking a man primed for cake if he'll take a saltine. . . . Sure. But there had to be a silver(-grey) lining. What other colors were available? Cranberry and cinnamon. . . . So, okay, forest green could work. And small wheels are better than no wheels.

I picked up the new car two days later.

The color really wasn't too bad, and the wheels weren't glaringly tiny given the car's diminutive frame. The motor took some getting used to. Gone was the husky V-6 engine that would muscle my old car through its gears, replaced by a four-cylinder that sometimes reacts indignantly when I ask it to power the new car uphill. No more automatic door locks and windows, either, a true mark of the idle rich. Now I have to stretch across the front seat to let my proletarian brothers in. And while I once could have carried four passengers easily, I now feel sorry for anyone forced to squeeze in behind me.

But not all the changes are bad. The old odometer read 151,063 miles; the new digital display showed just 5 miles as I drove off the lot. The jittery suspension that used to make my body tense as though I could somehow stiffen the ride by sheer concentrated bodily effort -- gone. The new, softer ride made me worry I might fall asleep as I trekked back to Washington that first day. And no more rattling window in the back. The tighter finish let just a hint of air whisper through the window as I rolled along the Interstate.

Then there's the new car smell. And for the first time in my life, it's my new car smell.

So I've grown accustomed to my economy Dodge -- even protective of it. I'm getting increasingly anxious about subjecting it to the District's crater-filled streets. It's just a matter of time before a wheel rim gets bent or the alignment goes off kilter.

But there's a certain peace of mind that comes with owning a brand-new car. Even if minor repairs need to be made, the thing won't likely fall apart in the next few years. I'll be able to stand confident when the repairman calls with his estimate, secure in the knowledge that our conversation won't involve life and death decisions. And that's a luxury I'm glad I can afford.

EDMUND WALSH