I’ve found the car of my dreams
I've fallen for an eye catching, sporty, stylish, model with character. My affair began in a parking lot. Our paths crossed. Me, slumped behind the wheel of my Toyota Celica, my head scraping the roof as I peered around a corner. That's when it happened. Parked all alone, confident and patient, tan and sparkling with a foreign appeal. "That's what I want," I told my girlfriend. She gasped, turned up her nose, and put her foot down.
"How could you?"
"Well, I finish paying this car off in June"
"You wouldn't," Lindsay said. Oh, but I would. And I will. Fate is calling me towards the German beauty. "What is it?"
"It's a Volvo," I replied.
After announcing my changed allegiance I make no secret of what I'd rather be driving. For some, it's a nine iron, for some a John Deere, for me, a Volvo Sport Wagon. My wandering eyes are justified. After buying my Celica on impulse (sunroof, compact disc player and tinted windows) the little white bundle of joy has blown four tires, busted a fan belt, and caused two speeding tickets. The air conditioner broke last summer. It suffered a crushed front end courtesy of a careless Dodge Caravan. I've outgrown the plastic body and bucket seats and each time I hit a bump, I have to check my pupils for signs of a concussion.
It is the same old story; the car just doesn't excite me anymore. There's no flame. The thrill is gone. I want something new, something in tune with my needs. I want a car that looks like me.
"How does a station wagon look like you?" Lindsay asks.
"First of all, it's not a station wagon. It's a Sport Wagon."
"It's a grocery getter."
She hasn't said one good thing about the car. In fact, she lobbies ruthlessly for me to hold on to my Celica. Not everyone is blessed with good taste. The world can cast stones at my dream car. The world can opt for flashy sports cars with sunroofs and CD players but I want a boxy Volvo. I want a tan one, or a black one. The red ones are nice too, anything but a white Celica.
Sometimes at night I lay in bed thinking about taking my Toyota back to the dealer and finding a bright shiny Volvo with a price tag that reads, "Celica Trade In Only" or "Free to a Celica Owner." I dream of driving it down country roads with my dog in the back hatch.
"You don't have a dog," Lindsay says.
"I'll get one."
They say you only fall in love once. I say once with a girl and once with a car.