Several months ago we got a new neighbor. He saw me out in the front yard and came over and introduced himself as Doctor Reggie, a seemingly nice guy I estimated to be in his 40's. I proceeded to tell him I lived with my daughter and her husband and three grandchildren, a preteen girl and two teen age grandsons. He remarked he bet the boys would like his Corvette convertible. I told him I was sure they would, they were both already muscle car crazy. He told me it would be here tomorrow, his daughter was driving it in....to tell the boys to come over and he would take them for a spin.
I told the boys and they were of course, anxious for it to get home. I found out I wasn't.
I was in my bedroom the next afternoon and suddenly thought our cul-de-sac was being invaded by a Harley motorcycle gang on "speed." I walked outside and discovered, no, it was just the doctor sitting in his pride, his hot silver Corvette had arrived at it's new home and evidently needed it's pipes blown out. I supposed his daughter hadn't done it well enough. What do girls know about "man" cars?
I told the boys and they ran out for an introduction and found out all the pertinent details, as to what kind of high performance racing motor and loud duel exhaust system he had installed in it. They were excited. I wasn't. I now refer to it as "the darn doctor's Daytona midlife crisis "Vette."
They have three other nice cars and he usually drives his little black Mercedes to work and I like it fine, it's runs very quiet. But at least once a week I am awakened early in the morning by the only car he thinks enough of to put in his garage every night, the noisy metallic-glitter silver one. The one that requires him to rev it up for at least five miserable minutes before he races off to work. The boys in the cluttered with rock guitar paraphernalia room next to mine can sleep through a tornado...I can't anymore. I want to open my bedroom window and scream at my friendly neighbor, "What the heck is your problem Doc?...these are the best years of your life!"
I should know. I left them sitting in the dust in my hot silver Camaro
over thirty years ago.