Me and Cars

I like cars, my own and others, and it may be that I covet cars because I’d like to have one, or more, for each day of the week. I do try not to covet, though.

• For Saturday an SUV, not huge, to take up to the mountains, in case I want to go there, and so I can see the road from up high on the way
  
• my somewhat sedate Acura TL sedan for Sunday, don’t want to raise too many eyebrows and be thought overly materialistic
  
• a BMW Roadster for Monday, whip into parking lots and watch the eyes follow me
  
• for Tuesday some kind of a Ford, any kind, because they didn't take government bail-out money and because of my mother's 1955 aqua and white hard-top convertible.
• Wednesdays get bogged down sometimes, need a pick-me-up—no, not a pick-up—in the form of something vintage, maybe a ’55 T-Bird, red. But no. That's another Ford. I'd better go Chevrolet, like my brother's ’57 Chevy convertible, white with silver trim, which I say still looks great, but the truth is I don't see myself in a convertible, so I guess the BMW Roadster is also out.
  

• Thursday wants a Lexus for luxury and looks, maybe, even though it's just a fancy Toyota.
  
• Friday, hmmm, Friday give me a Mini Cooper, just so I can try it out, but not yellow, please. Never a yellow car.
  

Fantasy is not reality. For now I drive my Acura and don’t complain. No, I don't complain. I'm mighty glad to have it.

Besides, my garage wouldn't hold more than three cars.