That’s my mother. Her involuntary expostulation combined horror/disgust/amusement/outrage/bemusement/disbelief and still rings in my mental ears. What had I done *this* time to warrant a not-entirely unprecedented reaction? Merely announced my car-purchase intentions, if idle-but-genuine musings can be dignified with that name.
I think I’ll buy a green car next time.
Mom liked cars, so she paid attention to them. She was honestly horrified that anyone might buy a car based on colour. She was a little disgusted that I would joke about it. She wasn’t quite sure that I *was* joking.
I wasn’t. I don’t like cars, particularly, so I don’t pay attention. I do like colour.
Most of the time that lack of attention poses no particular problem. After all, I can usually find my vehicle in our garage or on our driveway. But sometimes — as when I emerged from the Elections Canada polling station into the parking lot — it poses a wee problem. I am, after all, looking for a charcoal grey SUV whose overall shape and window configuration I could not reliably describe or distinguish from similar options if my life depended on it.
Now, when I look closely, of course I can see that these vehicles differ in minor matters like their heights, angles, and window shapes. One, I think, might be a van, not an SUV. But at a quick glance, squinting against the sun, they’re all dark grey-ish.
Thanks a bunch, Detroit and similar dens of design silliness. And thank goodness — no sarcasm this time — for unique license plates.