It occurred to me after posting my last entry that I have yet to talk about one of the last great passions in my life, my new Chevy Tahoe, or "The 'Ho." But this is a complicated matter...
I know it is completely unpractical (although I have two small sons, we rarely do anything out of doors. It will never drive us to a skiing trip or convey us to whitewater rafting adventures.). It is better on gas than I had expected but I know it is environmentally irresponsible -- and I really DO care about the environment -- you should see my recycling contribution every two weeks! I'm not a litterbug and I almost never pour turpentine down the sewer grate at the base of our driveway.
But here's the thing. When I test drove this vehicle and felt the purr of her engine beneath me, that was it. Maybe it's because I'm short, maybe it's because I learned how to drive on a Chevy Silverado and this is somehow related to regaining my youth or being like my father. I don't know. I just love it. I come up with random excuses to go to the store and cruise the beach instead.
It is undeniably superficial, materialistic, wasteful and selfish to love driving my 'Ho as much as I do. The first song I played on her amazing soundsystem was Joan Jett's "I Hate Myself for Loving You." Whenever someone jokingly comments on how it's too big "for a girl of your size" or gives me a hard time at work for my horrible parking job, I apologize profusely. I admit to my weakness. Unlike my friend, Beverly, who feels the wonderful pull to be peevishly bad, I feel a compulsion to please, to confess, to prostrate myself, guilt stricken, in front of the judging hordes (who probably don't even exist and aren't judging at all but I'm paranoid, too).
But enough. Here's a video that I love. The truth hurts: