I am flummoxed.
How did I get here again?
I don’t know about you but I have spent much of my adult life trying to avoid all things I deemed unsavory in my adolescence. You know what I mean? All of those things MY PARENTS had. (Oh the irony.)
And YET I find myself in ownership of one the things I so detested as a pre-teen, teen and young adult: I own a junker.
As in, a junk car.
As in, a car that smells bad, makes random indiscreet noises and releases toxic smoke into the air. Did I mention the dent in the front passenger side door? Or perhaps the radio that doesn’t work? And that pesky cigarette lighter casing that is hanging off of the dashboard like a baby tooth dangling out of the mouth of a toddler?
Yes, my car is THAT AWESOME.
I am the first to admit that I’m not one for uber-flashy things. I’m not dripping in diamonds. I don ‘t carry Louis Vuitton purses or even wear Uggs.
That being said, I would welcome an automobile that looked, smelled and performed a little better. One that I don’t worry about traveling in. One that I can drive my girlfriends in. You know… NOT. A. JUNKER.
But unless a dream car falls from the sky, I supposed I will have to settle for a car with, um… “character.”
Just don’t tell my pre-teen self, okay?