Daring to Be Happy

I bought this car on impulse.

Devin was doing laundry at home on a Saturday morning and suggested we go to the Volkswagon dealership to test drive a GTI. The advertising slogan for that model is "Smokin'!" While he terrorized the poor sales guy by ripping along the Minnesota River at 120 MPH, I was falling for a Beetle convertible. This particular bug is called a Triple White - white body, white interior, and white boot (the cover that slips over the black convertible top). Don't you agree it is irresistible? Classic with all that white, but impish because it's still a bug. Kind of like putting a 3-year-old boy in a tuxedo.

The billboards for this baby urge, "Dare to be happy." Isn't that what I'm trying to do in my life? Me, who has been ruled by the weight of responsibility and misplaced guilt, is trying to shake that MO. At 14, when I learned of the holocaust in confirmation class, I wept for a week because of "our" collective sins. This car made me laugh, it actually winked at me and said, "Come on, I dare ya."

So did I buy it right then? No, I told Carole Jean Anderson, my perky red-headed actress turned car sales gal, I would take the more practical red beetle with black interior. Devin had admonished, "Mom, White!? One cup of coffee spilled in there and it won't be white anymore." On my way home I called another Carol Jean, my Minister of Happiness and told her about the cars. She said, "If you want it and it will make you happy...buy the white!" With that endorsement I called the car Carole Jean back and said, "Put a sold sign on the triple white!"

So for about $50 more a month than the practical Passat wagon, I have this cute, little, impractical triple-white beetle in my garage. Does it make me happy? Well, not really, a car can't be the source of true happiness, but it does make me smile. And I've driven with the sun shining brightly on my face and looked up at the silver sliver of a waning moon and thought, life is good.