I am a big boy. I am relatively successful. I make my own money. I’m nearly 40 freakin’ years old for Chrissakes. I deserve to have a real car. Nothin fancy, just a basic grown up car that a relatively successful near 40 year old would drive.
You see I’m sitting here at home this morning stranded because I essentially drive the same car I’ve always driven since High School — a POS beater with a million jillion miles on it. It’s my own fault. It’s my friggin “principles” about frugality and not wanting to burden my family with debt when a simple paid-for beater will (just barely) serve my needs.
But, you know, screw frugality. I want a real car. It’s a matter of independence. I can’t just hop on the bus or walk or take the subway. I live in Houston where they don’t believe in providing convenient public transportation. Houston is about sprawl. Houston is about single passenger vehicles. Houston requires a dependable car.
Sure, I could ride my bike like some liberal, environmentally conscious twenty-something, but I’m a late thiry-something with bad knees and I want to drive to work, thank you. Right now, I’m not feeling very liberal, environmentally conscious, or frugal. Screw my principles, I want to drive a real car.