I am in the dog house. I received a message from Steve, the other owner of the car, and guess what!? The photo of the black volkswagon isn't our car. Nope, not even close. Of course, it depends on how you measure these things. It's black, it has chrome in the right spots, it IS a Volkswagon but apparently, there are further distinguishing features that I hadn't paid attention to. Like there isn't a rag top, nor are the bumpers (the silver sticky out bits that you smash into parking concrete thingys) the correct bumpers and it isn't EVEN the right year. On any car that you look at, do you see a Made In 19-- sticker? No, you do not, so a person only knows this piece of information because other persons do go on about it.
Here is a photo of the car that is really ours. See if you can spot the difference? Note the different colour of black paint. If this was a woman choosing paint for the bedroom and it was different shades of white, wouldn't there be a lot of snarky comments being made right about now? But no, there are different colours of black.
Now here is a photo of all the other cars and you can see that while knowing your shades of black is important, the really important thing to know is that despite paying attention to all kinds of volkswagon incredibly small details, there will always be a parking lot of other people who really and truly know this stuff.
Here is the best part of the day. This tall man comes along with an attractive female. He is selling a solution that is the miracle of car wax. He makes it himself with a recipe that he has derived from ancient car waxing recipes and a secret ingredient that he told me because he could tell that I would glaze over the precise moment he mentioned it. The attractive female was there for fun and support but she didn't have to do a thing to help sell this product. She did not have to Vavoom in any fashion. Tall man poured a bit of the gunk on the bumper (another sticky out bit that covers the wheel well (where you find the wheel when it is flat)) and he started to rub that stuff in. He never broke a sweat, he didn't have to use any shoulder or back muscles, he was relaxed through the whole thing. He began to "experience" the car. He stroked gently one way, he stroked gently the other way, he chatted while he stroked, he encouraged and complimented the men watching as he made circular motions, he even leaned over and blew gently on the shine that was coming up. The men watching were mesmerized. They were watching a stranger stroke a car into a beautiful waxy shine. He sold a billion dollars of the product.
Once he left, and he had forgotten the charming blue terry cloth glove that is used for this effort, I put it on and became, Laureen Vavoom Girl supreme. Witness the photos. Aren't I super? I am particularly impressed at how I defy gravity. I can't figure out how to rotate the photo yet.
Steve was jealous of all the attention the car was getting and feeling left out. Here he is trying to be a Vavoom boy and as much as I love him, it just doesn't work for me.
I think he looks cuter in an apron making the bread.