As you can see, I started owning cars at an early age. This was my first car. I don't remember the circumstances exactly, but I can possibly extrapolate from the picture: the car has broken down, and I can't go to the corner soda shop for an ice cream soda. Result: incredulity, followed by weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth.
People think I am indifferent to cars, just because I can't tell one from the other. Not so. I love cars. I particularly love having my own car. It represents freedom and mobility. I consider people who want me to ride public transportation with horror and disbelief. Cue up for a bus in the freezing cold weather? Wait for hours on a sweltering street? Carry packages in a tote bag instead of carelessly throwing them in the back seat? Me? Are they nuts?
Frankly, if push came to shove, I'd sell my house and live in my car.
So my car breaks down on Friday afternoon, and I'm stuck without a car until Monday. In this case, I will be stuck until I buy a new car, as this baby suddenly needs a lot of work.