humor

Tiny car syndrome

I know I keep saying this, but it’s settled: I’m buying a Fiat.  Within the month of May, I will own a brand new white Pop model Fiat 500 with brown and cream interior upholstery.  And it will be just adorable.  I went on another test drive yesterday, and I’m officially sold.  It’s way better than a Yaris (sorry Toyota, it was a tight race until I saw the interior- why would you put your dials in the center of the console?!).

silver lining: repair costs would have been low

I’m suffering from some anxiety about buying such a small car, though, and these worries manifested in a dream last night.  In the dream, I bought the Fiat, but was given a small plastic car instead.  The kind children play with.  And I couldn’t tell the difference.  It was bright yellow and made of that solid but soft plastic that kids’ giant toys are made of.  I drove off the lot amid a loud buzzing sound the engine made, and couldn’t tell I wasn’t driving the Fiat I’ve been pining for during the last two months.

Eventually, I got out of my little plastic pedal car, picked it up with one hand, walked back to the dealership and stood there at the counter where I demanded, “This is not a Fiat.  Where is my Fiat?”

Where indeed.

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