There are few things (read: possessions) I love more than my car. (I would link you to the various odes to Oliver, but….I can’t.) Safe to say, I’m terribly sentimentally attached to him for a variety of reasons. So, when it came time to think about a new car, the question of trade-in or sell was relatively easily answered “hell no!”
The car I actually wanted: an Audi A3. Purrrrrrr. Selling Oliver would have easily put him in my reach, but – that would be selling Oliver.

As a former VW owner (all 3 of Ollies predecessors), after a little bit of research, it was a pretty safe bet that I would be “coming home.” Further, this car had to be purposeful: it had to have 4 doors. You never know who you might need to put in the back. Someday. Maybe. So, a grown up car.

Time passed. A downpayment was saved. Thursday, while laying on my back feeling like death with the flu and god knows what else, I thought I’d send out some emails. Check some prices. I was in no rush. In this market, I should have known how fast a deal could transpire. Friday night, fever broken but with virtually no voice and one heck of a cough, I found myself at the dealer, keys in hand.

Holy crap, I bought a car.

Meet Henry. A nice, solid, German name. My second GTI. Junior. Laughingly, occasionally to be known as “Indiana.”

Sporty, the way I like it. Enough gizmos and gadgets to make my geeky self happy. 4 doors – I still haven’t actually used them – I keep reaching over from the front. And a trunk! A trunk I can put more than a person’s worth of THINGS in!

And Oliver, my Oliver. He will “retire” to a warm southern garage, where he will live out his days in blissful reprieve from the elements and daily wear and tear. This garage happens to be home to…oh….a few other cars. Owned by none other than my very own father.

This car problem, genetic?

Coincidence? I think not.