More Retail Therapy

You are reading the blog of the proud owner of a brand spanking new “arrest-me” red convertible – a Lexus ISC 250. This thing is decadent. Actually it’s a hard-top convertible. Like Kristen’s car, you push a button and a hard top rises out of the trunk. It rides like a dream. A bit noisier than the Lexus sedans, and a bit bouncier than I expected a Lexus to be. But, wow, what a ride.

How did this happen, you may be asking?

Well, it all started with a conversation with Lynn – I had called her to chat and get my regular does of heartache. Yes, I know, I should not be talking to her. I should not call her or e-mail her or anything. But I do.

Anyway, I was talking to her, and it turns out that last weekend she and Tim went to the local Lexus dealership and test drove a convertible, Tim was having fun jerking the chains of the sales guys. Lynn was impressed at how they (the sales guys) jumped to attention as they (Lynn and Tim) rode in on his BMW motorcycle – something expensive I am guessing. I don’t know bikes. She gushed on and on about how wonderful the car was, how powerful, how exciting, and how appealing.

Tim can test drive, but I can buy it. I rock. I am so much more than Tim. Is that sick or what? Is it so much more sick that I spent tens of thousands of dollars trying to impress my lost love?

This car completely lacks utility. It has virtually no trunk space, I can’t carry my kayak or windsurfer on it, the back seat is useless except for small children.

I must admit, though, this is one fun car.

I called Heidi from in front of her house. “Hi, you want to go for a drive?”

“Where?” she asked

“No where in particular.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“I just want to be with you. I’m outside. Come on out.”

“Well, OK” she sounded cautious.

She came outside and her jaw dropped. “Where did you get this?”

“I bought it.”

“You bought it? This isn’t from one of your friends? It isn’t a rental? Are you crazy? How can you afford it?”

“We’ll have to drink cheap wine for a while. You like?”

“I like. Sweet.” She climbed into the passenger seat. “Leather?” She asked.

“I got every option you can buy on one of these.”

“Wow. I love that new car smell.”

I started playing “The Beach Boys Greatest Hits” and we drove off over the Santa Cruz Mountains to the strains of “Surfin’ Safari”

“Let’s go surfin’ now, everybody’s learnin’ how, come on a safari with me…”

We were a cliché on wheels – two blondes in a red convertible with the Beach Boys belting out the tunes speeding down a California highway.

Life was good.