August 7, 2007
I walk to work, every day, back and forth. I’m loathe to go downtown in any conveyance that takes up much space. I hoof it wherever I can and bus it where I can’t, within a reasonable radius of where I live. Which means I drive maybe once a week.
Mr. Pencil has made the reasonable suggestion that I consider selling my car. For the privilege of driving once a week, I spend about $400 a month. Sounds like a simple equation, right? Except I can’t bring myself to part with my car.
Every time I do drive, it’s remarkably fun. And the once a week I do need my car, I need my car. Like tonight: I have to go to a book club meeting in far southwest Portland. Sure, we can share David’s Subaru, but it’s a psychological thing.
I’m a spoiled brat. I live exactly on the most frequent-running bus line in the city, which goes straight downtown (in my opinion, if you time it right, it’s faster to take the bus than drive. Not that it’s far. I live less than a mile from the middle of downtown). There is a Flexcar (ironically the same shape, make and shade of David’s Subaru) one block away.
And yet, when I drive my TT, it’s like ahhhhhhhhh. I love my car. It’s fast, it’s fun, it’s sexy. Help.
p.s. Yesterday was our 2-year anniversary. TWO MORE YEARS!!1 WOO HOO!!!11