Photo: Stuck In Customs on Flickr

Last night my pal Kathy (yes, the fabulous Kathy T from Shak & Jill and here) asked me for a favor. Now, I highly respect Kathy and I think she’s one of the most fabulous people I know, so when she asks for the favor, I instantly want to do it, no matter what it is.

She asked if she could borrow my husband’s convertible for a Christmas parade coming soon. I just started laughing hysterically when she said that.

Five years ago, my mother gave me her shiny red convertible when she bought a new car. I felt like a star when I drove down the street in that thing. Sure, it had a few problems, like the radio’s volume control was all kinds of wonky. To get it to turn down or up, you had to turn it to the quietest radio station around (the classical station) and then beat on the knob. Sometimes it would turn way up, sometimes it would turn down. It was always random, and there were many times that my oldest son would slink down in his seat while we drove through the streets of our town, bumping Beethoven at full blast. Good times.

When we got a safe, sensible Honda Accord, Mr. Ivy took the shiny red convertible and I drove the Honda. I bought him a new stereo and he was happy.

Then the hubcaps began to fall off, one by one. Always in bumper to bumper 80 MPH interstate travel, so no chance of picking them up and savaging them. Then the rear windows stopped working. Finally, the coup de gras- Mr. Ivy was hit by a trailer as he sat at a stoplight, and now there’s a one foot dent in the rear of the car. Snazzy.

So, the thought of this in a Christmas parade? It’s not even cool enough to be the clown car. Well, maybe the clown car, if you covered it in flowers or something.

I remember my dad driving the biggest pieces of junk in my childhood while my mom drove the newer cars. It seems my own family follows that tradition. There’s hope for Mr. Ivy- my dad finally got a Lexus after we kids moved away, and last month he traded it on a shiny new Toyota Avalon. So, Mr. Ivy will probably get something nice to drive someday, like my dad did. For now, it’s the Dadmobile- the once shiny, now beat up and ghetto convertible. Sigh.