“The car has become a secular sanctuary for the individual, his shrine to the self, his mobile Walden Pond” ~ Edward McDonagh
The cars sitting outside Starbucks this morning: new Mercedes, BMW convertible, Nissan Z, Hummer H2, Audi, Corvette ... and J's old Ford pickup that I decided to drive today.
Let's consider the "Latte Factor" here -- even if I saved the six bucks I spent at Starbucks this morning and stashed it in a high-interest account over the course of my lifetime, not really sure I'd ever reach the caliber of the other vehicles in the parking lot.
But would I even want to?* Sure, expensive cars are beautiful in their own right. J and I are looking to buy a new SUV in the near future, so we test drove a completely decked out Yukon Denali last month -- it's okay to dream. Because everyone is desperate to sell SUVs right now, the dealership let us take it home for the weekend. After crunching the numbers we had no real intention of purchasing it, but we thought what the heck, let's take the darling home.
I melted into the ebony leather seats, cruising around with the sun roof open, the satellite radio blasting some funky urban jazz. It winked at me from the driveway every time I looked out the window. It purred as I ran my hand down it's Birch Metallic and chrome body. I felt dirty driving it, and it's overzealous V8 roared as I accelerated at stoplights, turning heads. That's right boys, look at me.
So ruggedly sexy, I thought. But that annoying little voice inside my head began to buzz and reality (eventually) set in. No, I don't really need fancy GPS, heated leather seats, third row seating, DVD player and $55k worth of gas-guzzling bells and whistles. I just need something to haul the dogs, future kids and flowers from Home Depot.
But it sure is nice to dream.
*Kudos to those of you who are able to have expensive things. Adopt me. Seriously.