The $3,950.00 BMW

We needed a second car and I saw this shining red object in the front yard of someone's house. I thought to myself, maybe this could be the one. I called the car's owner and was told the price which was, unbelievably, in our range. Bill, ever thrifty, refuses to make car payments, so the transaction was made and in cash. Little did I know that BMW drivers are a neurotic and obsessive group of people. What looked like a simple mode of transportation to me became a totem of iconic significance to my husband. It provoked conversation among the men in the neighborhood (true, largely monosyllabic conversation - "nice car" "BMW, great car.") In order to work on the car, Bill decided to join the BMW club (A CLUB?!!) so that he could get their little catalogue and order stuff. He began staying up nights to look at all the things he could buy, giving this activity the attention monks once devoted to their illuminated manuscripts. He began ordering and was delighted when packages were at our house within two days. German precision knows no bounds!
I knew Bill was getting in more and more over his head when he announced one night that we should consider buying a third car so he wouldn't have to drive the twenty-year-old BMW during the winter months. Evidently, the salt on our roads would literally "eat it up alive." He found a second-hand Oldsmobile which makes a weird grinding sound whenever the car is in motion and about which we were assured by the salesman was normal for this make and model. The car needed some body work which Bill did by himself. On foggy, low-lit days it looks almost professional.
My husband's obsessions now extend to his inordinate interest in keeping up with the latest developments on the Weather Channel. He must know, with painstaking accuracy, whether or not he will be able to drive the BMW to work the next day. If there is a hint of moisture in the air, the barest fleck of fluffy cloud, the red car remains ensconced in the garage. I know when spring arrives in Rochester, because on that day, Bill tells me it's time, time to make The Call. "Heather, call Vince Leonardi at State Farm, tell him to reactivate the insurance on the BMW!" That done, he rolls the car ceremonially out of the garage. Neighbors emerge from their homes cheering, the sun is always shining, doves fly overhead, children link hands and dance with delight.
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