Spoiled Brat!

I really need to dig out my sobriety calendar and count days, but no matter, today is another sober day for me, thank you, Jesus!

I need my bottom paddled, especially in light of my last blog.  I should be thankful for all the wonderful people I have in my life and that should be enough.  And it is.  My cup runneth over.

Except....

I've never had a cherry red sports car.  I went from having the car that my parents thought was suitable for a capricious teenager to the cars that my husbands thought suitable.  Vans with lots of room for kids and all their paraphernalia and then my last car, an Olds Cutlass that just refused to die no matter how hard I tried to kill it.  By the time I married the cap'n he'd already gone through the midlife crisis hot car era of his life and loved to regal me with tales of his E-type Jag, the matching BMW's he and his first and second wife had (that's another blog), or the 1957 T-bird convertible he didn't remember buying on a party weekend in Taos.

When I married him, he was done with cars.  I got a f'ing sailboat and we didn't even own a car for several years.

When we bought our place here in CO, we also needed to buy a vehicle.  Well, you can't swing a squirrel here in CO without hitting a Subaru, so that's what we bought.

When we bought the place in MX (Yes, I am fully aware of what a spoiled brat I am. Spank me. Harder!) we needed a car to take down there and all of a sudden the cap'n was pulling up to a house in Denver and we bought a PT cruiser.  I don't remember any discussion of what kind of car we wanted to buy, of course, I might have been drunk when the conversation was held.  Scratch that.  Of course, I was drunk.

So now I'm going back to work and I need a car.  And I've been pouting for a week, make that weeks, because I know exactly what I'm going to end up with, something sensible, something safe, something reasonable, something incredibly boring. Last night, I hinted at a cute little BMW roadster that is listed as an incredible buy on car gurus.  The cap'n said, "How do you think it will handle up here in four feet of snow?"  He's right, of course.  But I don't care.  I'm 50 years old and I want to have my midlife crisis hot little number.  No matter how stupid and meaningless it is.

We're heading out in about an hour to car shop.  I'll post a pic and I'll try to put it in it's most flattering light.  And I'll try not to pout.