*** This is a sponsored post. All thoughts are my own and this is a true story***
I didn’t get my driver’s license until I was 30.
My brother also didn’t get his until late also so I used to tease my mum and tell her that her driving scarred us, but it’s not true. She was a great driver, or at least, she never had accidents and I wouldn’t have known about the finer points of being a good driver at that stage.
I moved to the city when I was 16 and the public transport was always fine (I was also fond of boozing and we all know that doesn’t mix well with motor vehicles.).
There was no burning need for a car… but then I decided it was time to get some wheels.
Unlike a teenager who can get incidental lessons driving to and from soccer practice with their folks, I had to pay cash money for every single hour of my lessons. In those days, you needed to log 50 or so hours.
At $70 a pop that was a considerable investment.
I think the requisite hours have doubled now, because they figure kids botch at least half of the hours. Not me. I was a stickler for the log book. I was determined and my driving instructor was cool and after 6 months of L plates I got that dang license first pop.
Those were the height of my cowboy boot wearing days and I thought I’d look uber styley climbing out of a Mustang.
However, it was deemed an impractical first car, let alone city car, by my veteran driving friends.
Then I thought about an old Mercedes but my friend had one and as much of a beauty as ol’ Bessy, as she was affectionately named, was she was also in the shop racking up fat bills a lot of the time.
My best friend was selling her white VW Golf, named Dubman (emblazoned in small black stickers across his rump). She loved him but was selling him because she was a musician and needed to buy Dubman Van to fit all her gear, so although everyone advised me against buying a used car from a friend, I adopted Dubman for my very own.
I loved that car. He was small and zippy, something I now know is smarter than a cool car.
I had him for a few years, and then babies came along so I upgraded to a wagon but you never forget your first car.
Back before Dubman, about 10 years ago, I had this boyfriend called Steve. He was a handsome chap with a chiseled jaw, killer smile and broad shoulders. The kind of handsome you see in movies… My friend nicknamed him Porn Star Steve.
We dated for a bit but I was fairly broken from a relationship I’d just come out of so it was doomed before it even began. Steve was really in like with me so when I ended things it went a little sour. I never saw or heard from Steve again until two weeks ago when he dropped me a Facebook message randomly.
We shot a couple of pleasantries to and fro and then he mentioned that he had just bought a car from a guy about 2 hours from where I live. It was a little white VW Golf.
He was checking through the old rego papers and whose name should he see? Yup.
My ex-bofriend and bought my ex-car…. and that makes 6 ghosts of boyfriend’s past.
Since my marriage ended I have somehow or another come into contact with 6 ex-boyfriends from as far back as 25 years. It’s as though the Universe is doing some kind of stocktake in order for me to move forward. That’s not what I’m talking about today, however, I’m talking about cars.
Small cars and strapping lads it seems.
If you’re shopping for a small car, especially a zippy and dependable Ford, click here.
If you’re shopping for a dependable, strapping lad, I can’t help you. I’m working on that myself.
Tell, what were your first wheels? Did you love it or was it just a vehicle?
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