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I saw in the news today that VW has revealed its race to take over Toyota and GM. Go VW!

Stuart has been hinting around that we should get me a new car. Lola is getting older, but why should I abandon her now while she’s in the prime of her life? (Are car years like dog years? How does that compute?) I can’t just ditch her after she’s treated me so fine over all those thousands and thousands of miles driving from Winter Haven to Winter Park and back. Sure she’s starting to show some wear and tear, but who isn’t? So what if the seats in the back are beginning to crack? You’d crack too if you were made of black leather and did nothing but bake in the sun constantly. (Whose idea was it to get black leather seats in Florida? I may not have thought that through all the way). Maybe I opened the mirror on the sunvisor a little too vigorously one day, and now I have to shove an empty gum packet in between it and the roof in order to make sure the lights stay off. So what if Koby has left drool spots all over the dashboard that don’t seem to want to come off? She has character. She has been around the block a few (thousand) times, but she’s been loved.

So I suggested to Stuart that I could get another Bug. Not to imply that Lola is interchangeable or easily replaceable, because she’s not. He burst my bubble by saying that wouldn’t be practical once we start having children. So now I have to plan my car buying around my hypothetical children? I think kids would be fine in the back seat of a Bug. As long as they stay small. Which, lets face it, if they’re our kids, they probably will. Neither of us are breaking any height records over here. But maybe, just to aggrevate Brooke Shields, we will begin reproducing just to get a Routan.

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