Baby you can drive my car

My car works again. I'm not sure I can adequately explain how much I love my car. It's not a materialistic thing. While it's a nice car, I don't see it as a status symbol for anything. It's just the fact that it's mine that makes me love it so.

I own my car. I had to stay in Colorado working for a maniac for exactly seven months to pay it off, so that is exactly what I did. (I calculated how long I would have to stay to pay off my student loans, but that was too depressing to consider) So that one little space is all mine.

I know when someone else has been driving it, especially the men in my life (Punky and my dad). Both of them obsessively/compulsively close the lids on my cup holders. Hello? I leave the house at all times loaded down with stuff and the first thing I do is unload the beverage. Grrr...

I love to sing in my car. And dance a little, too. I suppose I have attracted more than a few looks, but I don't know because I don't pay attention. But I understand the people who pick their noses, change clothes, kiss at stoplights, and do other not-usually-done-in-public things. It is the space we own where we are free.

So tell me, do you love your car?