My boyfriend has a beautiful car. The first time he picked me up for a date, there was a rose sitting in the passenger seat (yes, i agree, a little cheesy).
Everytime I sit in his leather passenger seat, I think of that rose.
I feel the silent A/C going full blast, and hear the incredible range of his stereos. The windows are custom tinted, and that’s wonderful for kissing, take my word for it. When I borrow his car, I go 90 mph on the highway, just because I can.
Sometimes, when we pull up in front of a group of people, I can feel them staring at us and I think how they must think that we are so rich, and elegant, and fancy.
I take his car to job interviews. Not because anyone will know which car is mine, but because it makes me feel like I’m in charge.
My car is not like his car. It’s loud. The stereo is fussy, and sometimes if I go over a bump too hard, the radio comes on. Loud. It gets fantastic mileage, and it has tons of space in the back, so we end up using it 5x as much as his car. But let’s be honest, it’s like I’m driving a toaster.
When I pull up in front of a group of people, I think they’re thinking how much I resemble the hamster from that Kia Soul commercial (before their makeover, not after…)
Sometimes, when I’m driving a new friend in my car, and we go over train tracks, the stereo comes on and it scares them so bad they start screaming.
When my boyfriend and I talk about our cars, we inevitably talk about their differences. He says things like “my car is so fun to drive,” or “my car’s brakes don’t squeak.” I say things like “my car is so loud on the freeway,” and “I need to remember to fix that scratch on the hood.”
After a while, I started to think maybe I should have a nicer car.
In fact, I couldn’t remember why I had decided to get my car, even though I loved it at the time. I started to wonder how I would feel driving everyday behind deep tinted windows. With $400 rims. It just seemed telling – that he had such a nice car, and I didn’t.
Then one day, i realized that there was something about my car that he could never understand, never compare to, that would always trump leather, and GPS, and surround sound.
I own my car. A bank owns his.
So, I made a little rule.
Everytime we talk about our cars, he has to add the word “bank’s” between “my” and “car.” Here are some sample phrases:
“My bank’s car is so fun to drive.”
“My boyfriend’s bank has a beautiful car”
In fact, if you’re that bored, re-read this entire post and insert the word “bank” everywhere my boyfriend’s car is mentioned.
Believe me, if ever there was a tool to counteract the lure of a sexy car, this is it.
**bonus points if you can guess which one is me!