Often I hear Dad's voice in my head. These two dad adages seem to be in conflict: 1) "The more you got, the more you gotta fix" and 2) "You can't take it with you."
This week I let #2 take over, and I'm still trying to rationalize having two compact vehicles parked outside my window. When I decide I'm truly in love with my new Smart ForTwo, I'll lovingly hand my VW Beetle over to a new owner. In the meantime, I feel a tad bit like a spoiled kid with a new doll in my arms and a perfectly adequate old doll waiting on the shelf wearing the same sweet smile it's worn for the past six years.
My lust for tiny cars is long-standing. I owned an original VW bug in the 70s. I first saw the Smart Car in Europe in the 90s. I visited the Ozee electric car dealership in Stoughton a couple years ago. And this weekend I picked up my very own Passion Coupe at Zimbrick Mercedes-Benz in Madison.
I'm pretty sure my Dad would have liked "Itsy" as we've come to call the new black car with the small footprint. He'd approve of the improved visibility, the miles per gallon, and the fact that it's 95% recyclable. He'd be glad I didn't settle for a "golf-cart car" that you have to plug in, the kind you can't drive over 35 miles an hour. And he'd laugh when he watched me drive my 8.8 foot car in a complete circle as I did a few times this morning when taking my sister to the airport (just for fun).
"Just make sure you clean up that Volkswagen real nice and get it sold," Dad would say, "because remember: the more you got, the more you gotta fix."
(I'm one-third done with the nasty part of chemo and doing remarkably well since discovering my aversion to Ambien. Tomorrow is chemo day and I wish "The Martha" weren't so nearby! I'm eager to plug in my iPod, with as many tunes as will fit from the 257-album collection Jake gave me, and drive off in my new car. I still love ya, VW, but size does matter.)
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