When I was a kid, my mom had a T-bird. It was her dream car. Maroon red with a T-Bar sunroof (fitting, don’t you think?) and whenever we were in it, we were always listening to Linda Ronstadt. Needless to say, I’ve been belting out ‘You’re No Good’ since I was about 5 and after all these years of practice, I’m good at it. Just ask me. I’ll tell you. At any rate, Linda and me and my mom are like peas and carrots and corn only in a more musical way.
So, my point today — and I do have one, trust me — is what is your dream car? Or not?
Fairly obvious question if you’re a male, because they seem fixated on all things vehicular (at least my male is), but for females not so much, or so I thought until we were visiting with a dear friend and the conversation shifted to DH’s intentions of buying a truck soon and dear friend belted out that her dream car was black, convertible, a year model and type, this and that and my eyes sort of rolled back in my head in surprise ’cause she *so* knew what it was that she wanted.
That got me to thinking that I hadn’t thought about a dream car in a long time.
We’ve been driving dependable Guinevere, our Ford Windstar for almost 8 years now and she’s done us proud. Granted she did blow her transmission 5 minutes after we left my dad’s funeral, but given that that was the week from hell anyway, it was a good time for it to happen. It just sort of rolled into all the other trauma (and bills) with a laissez-faire shrug of the shoulders.
So anyway, right now Gwinnie is worth more to us than anyone else, so I can see us keeping her “forever” (which is about 4 years, you recall) and then we’ll trade her in for something…different.
If I had my way…different would mean this…a Mini Cooper S Convertible — though we’d have to do some customizing to fit 3 in the back, rather than 2. And honestly, how would I ever fit all my groceries in there if the girls were with me? Or even their piano books for that matter?
And I’ll ignore the fact that my hair would be snarled into a horrible knot after just five minutes of driving because this is the DREAM car. It doesn’t have to be practical. We’re throwing out practical. We’re dreaming.
No budgets, no kids spilling ice cream or slopping french fries, no dogs with muddy paws, no dumps of snow in excess of 1 inch, no nothing, but whatever you want. Add a flashy outfit and a 7 figure publishing contract while you’re at it. Let’s go big, folks!
And don’t think I don’t know that this idealism is a polar opposite of yesterday’s post. It’s okay. We can do this, ’cause we’re not fixated, we’re just having fun. So what’s your dream car? Tell me what you’re thinking Seattle…I’m listening.