A lovely specimen of Subaru. The '96 Legacy Outback wagon.
I can't believe I found a picture online of one so identical to the one I drive--complete with rust stains! Oh, except ours has some fancy gray duct tape, and the left-hand mirror is held in place with white.
Good points: It is an automatic. Thank goodness. It has a cd player--five cd changer, no less. And a radio. And ac, and heat, and. . . leather seats. Which some people I know find utterly loverly. Has anyone else noticed how any contents upon said leather seats inevitably pitch forward at the slightest use of the brake?
Well. Maybe not all leather seats are created equal. But the sub's are very cold in winter, vice versa in sunshine.
Now, The Sub, or, The Bus, is not as bad as these examples:
Exhibit A:
. . . 1992 Geo Prizm. Stick shift. I learned manual transmission driving in this car, only imagine it being a much more pronounced dark pink. Oh, and add much more rust along the sides. Nickname, 'Rusty'. Megan has written about this car.
In turn, the dear old Prizm is better than the ultimate bomb-of-bombs, which my poor sister Julia had to drive for several years. . .
I couldn't find the exact model, so picture this one being that ugly shade of 'old gray metal', and broken down to the point of roadway catastrophe. It was a Renault, year 1987, I believe. The muffler never stood a chance.
Now. . . lately, discovering much about vehicles and their good and bad points throughout the past year of driving many different types thereof, I am led to discover which I would like to drive permanently.
So . . . you've seen my current ride, which eats gas at approximately 18 mpg, and you've seen what it's better than. Now, I'm going to post pics of those-which-are-better-than-the-sub.
This, the ultimate:
Ohhh, the gleaming headlights, the flashing brilliance of the exterior finish, the spinning wheels. . . I can almost hear the purr of the engine, this incredible Mustang GT. Scarcely can I imagine pointing my set of keys at it, pressing the button, and having its lights flash its devotion back at me while it unlocks its doors for me, and me alone. . .
You get the picture
However.
I would settle for this (and most, most happily):
Honda Civic. 1998. (though I think this model is actually a 2002.) Honda's are very good cars with an excellent reputation, and this one gets good gas mileage, which I have also recently understood the importance of. Therefore, I should be excessively brimming with bliss to call this my car--my ride--my engine--my wheels--my. . .
Okay.
On that note, I must cut in to say that I would not be adverse to owning one of these:
Enlargening the photo to further enhance the glamour of the sleek 2012 Honda Civic. . . Beautiful. Simply beautiful.
*sigh*
* * *
I'm not sure when this began. I couldn't tell you the moment I first fell, as it came so gradually. Sometimes I think there was never a beginning. . . that this deep affection has gone on forever. But here--here is the true object of my deepest longing.
*dies*
* * *
Oh, while I'm on this subject, I must mention something most irritating to me.
Bear with me, and observe this photograph:
Unless you're just buying the truck for the sake of having a truck--and a nice hot new one at that--there is no point to such a small bed. It appears to be the length of about 3 feet.
So, unless you're hauling garden hand-trowels and approximately 1 and a half bales of hay, don't think about it twice. Anything more would fall off the edge.
Am I right?
There, now I've just had a "Blogger's Rant" about something. I feel very accomplished. And better, too, having that off my chest.
On another note, did you catch the similarities between these vehicles? Particularily the ones I admire?
Happy Friday! (in six hours. . . )
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