Miss my Saab. Convertible weather has arrived. A few years ago, I gave in to my long submerged urge to own a 1993 or earlier Saab convertible. It had a tan interior on a black body. 900 Turbo. Oooh, what fun it was to drive. I’m not even really a convertible kind of girl, but there is something about that body style that just makes me smile. Much prettier than the coupe.
Today was a perfect Saab kind of day. Not too hot, not too cool, it was ju-s-s-s-t right. The past few days have brought several of the local Saab nuts out of their garages for a spin. When I see one, there is a slight twinge–like seeing that summer love from your “summer of love.” Always have a soft spot for him, even though you know he wasn’t really good for you.
Selling my Saab is akin to the famous boat story. “What is the second happiest day of your life?” “The day I bought my boat.” “Really? Well then, what was the happiest day of your life?” “The day I sold it.” I loved my Saab. I miss my Saab. I smile when I see that swoopy shape, and always get a slight twinge (OK, a big twinge) when one passes by, but then I remember the other love affair that comes with owning a quirky, unusual automobile–my frequent trips to the mechanic. Eventually I sobbed over the maintenance costs. Ultimately, the sobbing over my Saab overtook the pleasure and fun.
For today though, that fine line of knowing the difference between sobbing over my Saab and sobbing over my Saab blurred just enough to make me wish for a split second that we could try one more time to make it work, at least until the end of the season….