my car, myself

"I'm just not a PT Cruiser type of girl," I told the rental car agent.
I had been forced to rent the hideous, ersatz-antique automobile because it was the only economy car on the lot. It proved to be economical to rent, but not to drive. And as I was planning to put some 3000 miles on the thing, that kind of defeated the purpose.
Worse, I discovered that PT Cruiser drivers are the kind of people who wave at one another without mouthing, "Sucker." After renting cars for years, I thought I was so over identification with the make of car I was driving. But that was before someone invited me to step into a PT Cruiser. Gag. Now I could understand my sister's instinctual revulsion when faced with a minivan.
So there I was, back at the rental office, trying to switch the thing out for another car. This time, there was a probably-better-on-gas-mileage Suzuki (who knew? I thought they just made motorcycles) available.
Candy apple red.
I looked at it and thought, "Speeding ticket on wheels."
And climbed back into the Cruiser.

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