MR. G: We always say next year I’ll get a good car and I still don’t have one
ME: [giving the Jaguar driver the side eye] You have a good car.
MR. G: I want to look at a Porsche.
ME: Okay, can it wait a year?
MR. G: I’ve waited a year, the kids are bigger. I think it’s time.
ME: Okay, we’ll go look at the coupes.
MR. G: Maybe a convertible.
ME: That’s a problem I don’t need.
MR. G: [looks confused] What problem?
ME: I don’t need you running around town looking all handsome in a convertible luxury car. It’s just trouble that I don’t need in my life.
MR. G: You’re insane.
ME: You don’t know how the world works.
MR. G: [laughing] Okay, break this down for me. Just how is this mythical convertible ruining your life?
ME: You know how.
MR. G: No. [more laughter] I don’t know how. So am I on the freeway on my way to work and meeting people?
MR. G: Oh and how do I get their number? Or maybe on Beverly Glen? Is that where cars full of young models fling themselves at me?
ME: Could be. [I know it sounds ridiculous]
MR. G: So at what point does this tear our marriage apart?
MR. G: No, really. I’d like to know how these things work, at least inside your head.
And then I end the discussion because I’d be mortified to tell him just how many men I dated in my teens and 20’s that I met from the safety of my little red convertible.
But honestly? That man is good looking. The convertible may happen but it legitimately is a headache no wife needs.