2003-05-08 - 12:36 a.m.
A couple nights ago, as I was getting into my car after Liralyn went to bed, a teenage guy came up to me and started asking about it. Seems his family had the same sort of car a few years ago, but got rid of it to make the down payment on their house, and he's lusted to get one of his own ever since.
A couple weeks ago, Liralyn told me that my car reminded her of a Hot Wheels car, because of the alloy wheels. I found that doubly funny since one of the first ads for the 1994 Integra showed one on a 70s-style bright orange Hot Wheels loop-the-loop track, poised for the descent.
I didn't buy the car because I wanted the approval of people who looked at it. I bought it because Mechaiaeh's BYM talked me into test-driving one, and once I did, I knew I had to own one. (Not that it took a lot of fast talking on his part, of course.) I actually feel like a big wuss for being so tickled when people complement the car. But after the teenage kid mentioned if, I decided I could enjoy the praise, guilt-free.
I hate my job, I'm being unusually and lamely skittish about the house, and I'm generally not stoked about my life right now. But I get to drive a car that little kids playing with Hot Wheels and teenage boys looking to pick up chicks envy, and (since I used to be both those sorts of people), that counts for something. It counts for more that I have a Liralyn to talk about Hot Wheels with, of course, but I don't like to brag on that. Serious bragging on the child will come in my bestselling book "How to Raise Your Child To Be Half As Cool As Mine, If You're Lucky, You Loser."