“That cheap! It’s only $15,000 each!”
“What about that one? That’s nice. We can paint it.”
“Oh, get that one. We can fix it up. You can show me how to fix the engine properly. Just think, it can be our project. Wouldn’t that be fun? Huh? Huh? Come oooooon.”
I’ve been able to convince my dad of a lot in my life – I am, after all, daddy’s little girl – but here we come to an impasse.
Unfortunately, both he and mum are unfailingly practical on this particular topic. He’s more than happy to look at all the gorgeous vintage goodness and keeps showing me all the Mustang convertibles he finds, but then keeps being a downer in saying I can’t drive it every day and how expensive the upkeep would be etc etc. And then there’s mum chipping in with how much petrol the thing would take (also I’ve realised as most of the old cars run on leaded fuel, where would I even go to fill it up? It's all unleaded these days or, worse, ethanol.)
Sigh. They just rain on my parade.
I just want to live Marge, won't you let me live!?
On a similar note, a guy dad works with is selling his Impala. Selling. His. Impala. How is that not a sign? Now personally, they don't really do it for me - my heart’s been set on a Mustang since I was like 13 - but if an opportunity just comes begging, I’d settle for an Impala. Despite it being ginormous. It’d probably park the entire street in. Or as dad said, “Why do you want this old thing? It’s so big, you could live in it!” Which is actually a pro if you think about it because if I purchase a vintage car, that’s exactly where I’d have to live.
Actually, speaking of Impalas. I was watching Supernatural last night (how can a show so funny be so emo? You hurt my heart, show!) and got to thinking – in light of all these negative, practical facts my parents insist on bothering me with – how do the Winchesters even keep that thing on the road? I mean hell, petrol is expensive.
Also, not once in the last two seasons has it broken down. My car is 14 years younger than that thing, and if I drove it across country hunting demons all the time, it’d totally be a gibbering wreck. Driving 88kms a day in traffic is already turning it into a gibbering wreck. Oi, suspension of disbelief, please come apply yourself to my almost-vintage car as well.
If I hold onto Jack for twenty more years, I think he’ll qualify as vintage. There must be a nutter somewhere collecting Daihatsus.
|Dear car, please come and park yourself in our garage. Thanks.|
That one is actually perfect. Excellent condition, original owners, just perfect. So…how much can you get for a kidney these days? Ugh. I’m just going to sit here in the corner, softly crying. Don’t mind me.
This is what dad wants, just so by the by. He’s old-school rock n roll.
PS: I'm amazed I don't have a tag for Jack. Considering how much I've whined about him, you'd think I'd have a car appropriate post label. Hm.
Music: Kill Tonight - Panic! At The Disco