Life in a faster lane

One never knows when life's aha moments will sneak up on you. Mine occurred while following an elderly "Sunday driver" in beautiful Mercedes Benz who apparently couldn't or chose not to apply any significant pressure to the accelerator. Behind me appeared to be a high school aged male in a pristine BMW, wandering across the yellow line to assess if he could pass the Mom van and powerful Mercedes without getting into trouble with his parents or the police or both.

We've always been a frugal pair, and Tony and I have never been comfortable with extravagance. Financial hardships early in our relationship taught us early on to discriminate between wants and needs in order to secure our future. But Tony's 60th birthday was approaching, and I was at a loss to think of an appropriate gift for the man who has everything...only because he demands so little.

"I think we should buy your dream car in celebration of your 60th birthday" I said to him when I arrived home. "We can wait until we're too old to drive a nice car, or we can leave the money to our kids to buy a hot car...or we can get one for your 60th birthday." A week later we were in the Jaguar showroom looking at a black convertible sports car that resembled the bat mobile. "This is the car for the die-hard Englishman who knows that his car isn't going to start most of the time" commented the salesman. This fell on deaf ears as my man and the car's personal mechanic drooled over the 550 hp, and all the bells, whistles and fins this magic vehicle possessed...well except for the price tag of course.

In the months that followed, we visited and researched Mercedes, Audi and Jag; BMW, Lexus and Jag; Infinity, Acura and Jag; Porsche, Aston Martin and Jag. We negotiated back and forth between a convertible, a two seater or a vehicle that would accommodate two kids booster seats and a couple of schnauzers. "I think I've found my dream car" he said, showing me a shiny Mercedes catalogue. The price was a little more sedate, as was the vehicle...a compromise he had talked himself into.

"The Jaguar salesman called this week...you should call him back as a courtesy" I mentioned casually. Twenty minutes later we owned the convertible Jaguar despite Grace's protests that a jaguar has big teeth and it will chase her. Big Kitty does not tolerate even a smidgen of snowfall, it won't go to sleep unless the key is kept 50 feet away, and the crystal rattles every time the engine powers up. But the boy loves his new toy and every colleague, friend and acquaintance that possess a Y chromosome or a testosterone level over 3 has shared his glee over her. I guess you can take the Brit out of England, but not the English out of the Brit, and I am relieved that he has not had a moment of remorse about choosing the temperamental British feline.

There was a little shock and awe at the bank when I went to certify the cheque given our stellar saving habits, and the bank manager said "He must be a very good husband to get such a birthday gift...what are you getting for your birthday?"
"I don't need anything other than a new shovel from time to time" I offered a disappointing response
But if I started dreaming big about a new shovel, it would have really impressive tires, an engine that roared and a substantial bucket for moving tons of compost and trees...and we'd need to buy a few feet of property to get the backhoe into our backyard...or relocate the garage.
We've got a couple years to save up.