Classic/Durango
My beloved Durango was returned to me yesterday after over two weeks at the body shop where it was being repaired from the little rear ender thing I caused when I went forward while looking backward. Note to all you drivers out there: don't drive in the opposite direction of your eyes. It's just never a good idea.
I may have to say that my Durango may be beloved no more. Now, I've been driving a lovely Chevrolet Classic as my replacement vehicle. What the heck's a Chevrolet Classic? You may be asking, as every other person I've told has asked. Well, let me tell you. It is a boring four-door American sedan, no bells and whistles, nothing headturning about it, but...it is a car. I haven't driven a car for two years. I'd forgotten that when you hit the gas on a car (depending on the size of the engine and all that) the car goes and goes right away. The Durango likes to take its time, waving to all the cars around it, smelling the roses, and admiring its reflection in building windows before deciding that it is time to maybe respong to the gas that is pouring into the engine (or wherever gas goes to make it go, I'm no expert, people, read on). Course the Durango is weighed down with the tow package I never use and four-wheel drive that is good for all of the blizzards Seattle never gets, so it has an excuse. But I got addicted to going rather than dawdling. I got used to the car turning quickly. I loved going the same distance on the Classic's ten gallon tank of gas that I go on the Durango's 25 gallon tank of gas. I even got used to falling down into the car instead of climbing up into the Durango.
I turned in my Classic yesterday and picked up the Durango. Turning on the vehicle, I tried to feel at home again. I had my leather interior back, I had my digital compass and thermometer, I had my third row seating. Yeah, I had all that, but what I realized what that I was sitting in a clunky tank. Steering the beast around was like directing a donkey, it wasn't going anywhere quickly. Stopping at a stopsign I had to remember that I couldn't just gun it to cross the intersection. Durangos don't do "gun it."
So alas, I think I may have to end my love affair with the Durango. It seems I am over that American obsession with SUVs, cured by the Chevrolet Classic. Don't worry, I won't be heading to the nearest dealership to pick myself up one. I'm looking for something a little more sporty, a little more me. Do you think child seats fit in Porsches?
I may have to say that my Durango may be beloved no more. Now, I've been driving a lovely Chevrolet Classic as my replacement vehicle. What the heck's a Chevrolet Classic? You may be asking, as every other person I've told has asked. Well, let me tell you. It is a boring four-door American sedan, no bells and whistles, nothing headturning about it, but...it is a car. I haven't driven a car for two years. I'd forgotten that when you hit the gas on a car (depending on the size of the engine and all that) the car goes and goes right away. The Durango likes to take its time, waving to all the cars around it, smelling the roses, and admiring its reflection in building windows before deciding that it is time to maybe respong to the gas that is pouring into the engine (or wherever gas goes to make it go, I'm no expert, people, read on). Course the Durango is weighed down with the tow package I never use and four-wheel drive that is good for all of the blizzards Seattle never gets, so it has an excuse. But I got addicted to going rather than dawdling. I got used to the car turning quickly. I loved going the same distance on the Classic's ten gallon tank of gas that I go on the Durango's 25 gallon tank of gas. I even got used to falling down into the car instead of climbing up into the Durango.
I turned in my Classic yesterday and picked up the Durango. Turning on the vehicle, I tried to feel at home again. I had my leather interior back, I had my digital compass and thermometer, I had my third row seating. Yeah, I had all that, but what I realized what that I was sitting in a clunky tank. Steering the beast around was like directing a donkey, it wasn't going anywhere quickly. Stopping at a stopsign I had to remember that I couldn't just gun it to cross the intersection. Durangos don't do "gun it."
So alas, I think I may have to end my love affair with the Durango. It seems I am over that American obsession with SUVs, cured by the Chevrolet Classic. Don't worry, I won't be heading to the nearest dealership to pick myself up one. I'm looking for something a little more sporty, a little more me. Do you think child seats fit in Porsches?
posted by The Narcissist at 9:27 AM
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