Lol @ French
Dear Friends,
We have gathered here today to bid farewell to the last in a series of impractical and expensive cars my mother has owned.
At age 63, she has finally caved in and bought a car that is, first and foremost, useful.
What I'm talking about? Today my mother gave up her tuned BMW for a Citroen Berlingo for added comfort when traveling with the dogs. This memorable event has led me to remembering fond stories about automobiles in our familiy, particularly her last BMW before this one, which she only refers to as "the red one".
A horribly uncomfortable, fuel-gulping monstrosity of a M328, seats dragging almost on ground level, extra broad tired and neck-breaking acceleration. The kind of car you would expect a young man with self image issues and too much disposeable income to drive, except that it was sparkly calypso red.
She only replaced that one because it became troublesome for her to enter a car with lowered chassis with her artificial hips.
I have semi-fond memories of the time when she almost had a passenger puke on the backseat because she insisted that racing through the gap between two huge freight hauling trucks on a bumpy road in the middle of Croatia was perfectly safe and sensible.
So after her nostalgic waxing over that one, she started telling me about all the new and awesome features this more practical car would have. This is not exactly verbatim, but it summarizes the conversation pretty well.
Mom: It's go some pretty nifty extras, and it's in my favourite colour! Lookit that royal blue!
Me: I thought that calypso red was your favourite colour for a car?
Mom: BARRING THAT this is my favourite colour. Originally, I was going to take the mint one...
Me: You are not driving me around in something that looks like a misshappen blob of toothpaste with wheels.
Mom: Don't you talk bad about toothpaste, young man. Better than that horrid pink.
Me: Fine, whatever. At least it has more storage space.
Mom: And a disposeable ashtray dispenser.
Me. What.
Mom: A disposeable ashtray dispenser.
Me: There is no such thing.
Mom: There is. It's got little paper ashtrays stacked into it.
Me: That's...the most useless car extra I've ever heard of. And none of us smokes. In fact, don't we all hate smoking?
Mom: I find it cute nontheless. At least it's more thought through than the shopping cart.
Me: The shopping cart.
Mom: It has a built-in shopping cart. It's on one of the back walls and expands to a full-sized shopping cart-box. It's fixed to the wall mount though, which you can take off if you want to. But then you'd have to lug the wall mount around with it. You can't take it with you to shop.
Me: . . . I take that back about the ashtray dispenser.
Mom: I thought so. And the sunroof actually folds in and goes all the way to the back seats, so it's like a hybrid cabrio! Only in a box-on-wheels.
Me: . . . .
Mom: There is one thing that is weird about this car though.
Me: And that'd be?
Mom: The meters, they're weird. See, they don't count 20, 40, 60 and so forth like real (read: German) cars do, they all go 10, 30, 50.. it's so creepy! And inferior.
Me: That's...you know, enough about the car. So how was your day?
Srsly. WTF @ the French?
We have gathered here today to bid farewell to the last in a series of impractical and expensive cars my mother has owned.
At age 63, she has finally caved in and bought a car that is, first and foremost, useful.
What I'm talking about? Today my mother gave up her tuned BMW for a Citroen Berlingo for added comfort when traveling with the dogs. This memorable event has led me to remembering fond stories about automobiles in our familiy, particularly her last BMW before this one, which she only refers to as "the red one".
A horribly uncomfortable, fuel-gulping monstrosity of a M328, seats dragging almost on ground level, extra broad tired and neck-breaking acceleration. The kind of car you would expect a young man with self image issues and too much disposeable income to drive, except that it was sparkly calypso red.
She only replaced that one because it became troublesome for her to enter a car with lowered chassis with her artificial hips.
I have semi-fond memories of the time when she almost had a passenger puke on the backseat because she insisted that racing through the gap between two huge freight hauling trucks on a bumpy road in the middle of Croatia was perfectly safe and sensible.
So after her nostalgic waxing over that one, she started telling me about all the new and awesome features this more practical car would have. This is not exactly verbatim, but it summarizes the conversation pretty well.
Mom: It's go some pretty nifty extras, and it's in my favourite colour! Lookit that royal blue!
Me: I thought that calypso red was your favourite colour for a car?
Mom: BARRING THAT this is my favourite colour. Originally, I was going to take the mint one...
Me: You are not driving me around in something that looks like a misshappen blob of toothpaste with wheels.
Mom: Don't you talk bad about toothpaste, young man. Better than that horrid pink.
Me: Fine, whatever. At least it has more storage space.
Mom: And a disposeable ashtray dispenser.
Me. What.
Mom: A disposeable ashtray dispenser.
Me: There is no such thing.
Mom: There is. It's got little paper ashtrays stacked into it.
Me: That's...the most useless car extra I've ever heard of. And none of us smokes. In fact, don't we all hate smoking?
Mom: I find it cute nontheless. At least it's more thought through than the shopping cart.
Me: The shopping cart.
Mom: It has a built-in shopping cart. It's on one of the back walls and expands to a full-sized shopping cart-box. It's fixed to the wall mount though, which you can take off if you want to. But then you'd have to lug the wall mount around with it. You can't take it with you to shop.
Me: . . . I take that back about the ashtray dispenser.
Mom: I thought so. And the sunroof actually folds in and goes all the way to the back seats, so it's like a hybrid cabrio! Only in a box-on-wheels.
Me: . . . .
Mom: There is one thing that is weird about this car though.
Me: And that'd be?
Mom: The meters, they're weird. See, they don't count 20, 40, 60 and so forth like real (read: German) cars do, they all go 10, 30, 50.. it's so creepy! And inferior.
Me: That's...you know, enough about the car. So how was your day?
Srsly. WTF @ the French?