Love, Soft as a Leather Boxster Seat
You'll all be relieved to know that my car and I are back on speaking terms. I love my car. I know, I know I promised to love in good times and in bad, but my vows were seriously challenged by economic hardship, unrequested revving, check engine lights, and plastic window woes.
But today, today, all was right with the world. I put that top down, I pulled my rabbit fur collar around my neck, I turned on that seat warmer and zoooooooooom. With Brazilian Reggae music cheering me on, I pulled out. The clutch was as soft as butter, my foot on the pedal did my bidding and miraculously (in LA), the freeway opened up for me.
Now, this must have been why I bought it in the first place. Truth be told, I didn't know why I bought it. At first it just seemed to be a pain in the ass. I figured maybe men called this pain-in-the-ass fun, but that I needed to be in a floaty, no feel of the road, automatic with an ipod plugged into the dashboard. But no! I judged too quickly.
I was only on a short trip, but now I know what it's like to feel the road calling.
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