Convertible People

I will never own a convertible. I'm not one of those people. On some peripheral level, I understand the appeal. It's probably like motorcycle enthusiasts: the wind in your hair ... the sun beating down on you ...

If I want to feel the sun, I'll go to the pool or I'll go on vacation. Don't get me started on the wind in my hair. I don't have convertible-friendly hair. The wind can mess with it on a good day. After a ride in a convertible, I bear a strong resemblance to Gilda Radner playing Rosanne Rosannadanna on SNL.

My friend and neighbor just bought a new convertible. I think it's her third. She is kind and will often let me ride with her to a mutual destination. She laughs at me because I spend the entire trip holding my hair.

Trading Cars

At my request, the husband and I traded cars today. Even though it was my idea, it makes me nervous. I ride with him a lot and I think he is an agressive driver. Also, he will not let me take him through the tutorial so he'll just be pushing buttons and I will have to reset everything.

I don't even particularly like my car. It's way too complicated. Still, some only child gene rears its ugly head and it's MINE! Be careful with it.

The oldies don't have this issue. He's legally blind and she is the only driver. The blindness must come and go because he's always playing navigator.

The only qualm Big Daddy has about me driving his car is dog hair. He didn't want the dog in the passenger seat. I couldn't make this promise so I had to swear to have it vacuumed. I don't know what the big deal is. His car is a mess and I am usually the only one to sit in the passenger seat.

So, he took my car. The one with all the dog hair in it.