When I was 19 years old, I wanted to buy an MG Midget. Actually, I wanted to buy a convertible and an MG was the only thing in my price range.
But my parents forbade it. Something about safety, the three other cars I had totaled and ending up as a fiery smudge on the road. I wasn’t too clear on the whole subject (I was 19 and wanted a tiny sports car. Like safety mattered to me) , but the end result was I ended up with a late 80s Duster… that had no heat.
As you might expect, this caused some long term psychological damage. Mostly along the lines that when I was finally able to tell my parents to butt out of my purchases, I bought a convertible. Not an MG (those things are death traps, don’t ya know), but still fun and sporty.
It was with my first convertible that I discovered that owning a convertible and being a gardener was a perfect combination. Convertibles are surprisingly utilitarian.
When Marc’s had two-tier pond sets for $90, did I go home and get my husband’s big old clunky Jeep. Heck no, I put the top down on that puppy and threw the whole thing in the back seat.
When I went to a tree auction and scored a 15 foot silver maple for $25, do you think I fretted for a second about how I was going to get that tree to the other side of town where I lived? Not a chance! Top went down, tree got home.
Trash picking, hardware store trips, helping friends move… It’s like having a friend with a truck with benefits. Very useful and a whole lot more sexy.
So when a few years ago I needed a new car and my mother insisted I needed to just bite the bullet and buy a minivan, I just laughed. Buy a minivan!?! You can’t haul anything in a minivan.