Isn’t she lovely?
For half a century, I’ve navigated life with a grand total of four cars. My automotive journey began with a behemoth: a 1985 Oldsmobile Delta 88. Picture this – a hood expansive enough to double as a basketball court, essentially two plush sofas rolling down the road. This land yacht, a hand-me-down from my grandfather as I embarked on law school, served me faithfully until its transmission decided to stage a dramatic exit.
Then came practicality in the form of a gold, manual transmission Geo Prizm. This sensible purchase lasted until an inattentive driver, more engrossed in their phone than the road ahead, introduced my brake lights to their front bumper. Totaled. Next in line was a gold Honda Accord, which met its demise when a startled young woman, mistaking the gas for the brake in stop-and-go traffic, decided to use my rear as a deceleration aid. (Thankfully, insurance was involved). Loyal to a theme, I replaced it with another gold Honda Accord. Why gold? It’s the chameleon of car colors, perfectly camouflaging itself against the ubiquitous pollen that blankets the South. Dirt? What dirt? This trusty Accord has been my companion since 2010, bearing a few cosmetic scars but mechanically sound.
Until recently, my car choices have been paragons of practicality. I drive them until their last breath. Starting car ownership at 21 means I’ve been behind the wheel for 29 years, averaging a car turnover rate of 7.25 years. A figure that would be even higher if other drivers shared my road awareness.1
So, imagine my surprise when, shortly after hitting the big 5-0, an unexpected automotive desire took root: a yellow convertible Camaro. A rather ludicrous aspiration for a woman in her prime,2 I admit, but the yearning was undeniable. It began innocently enough. Driving my dependable Accord, running mundane errands, when a flash of yellow caught my eye. A Yellow Camaro convertible, top down, cruising effortlessly. Every fiber of my being ignited with envy.
Yellow Camaro front view
I kept this nascent desire to myself, but a few weeks later, the universe conspired to reveal its strength. Dinner was chili. Salt was needed. A simple request, right? But the table, a chaotic landscape of culinary condiments, presented powdered garlic, Worcestershire sauce,3 paprika, pepper – everything but the elusive salt. In that moment, something snapped. The ensuing salt-shaker-induced meltdown was of such magnitude that my son, a continent away at college, heard tales of it. Or perhaps he just heard me – my voice may have carried.
But it wasn’t truly about the salt. It was about fifty years of pent-up frustrations simmering beneath the surface. It was a classic, full-blown tantrum, decades in the making.
That evening, emboldened by chili-fueled clarity, I turned to my husband and posed the question that had been brewing: “Why can’t I have a yellow convertible Camaro?” Perhaps still slightly wary of another kitchen-utensil-related outburst, he offered a diplomatic, “I don’t know.” Later, fate intervened in the form of my friend Jon, a mechanic by trade. I presented the same query to Jon, fully expecting a pragmatic dismissal, something along the lines of, “Those are unreliable. Steer clear.” Instead, his response was succinct and encouraging: “No reason. Get one.”
I suspect Jon just wants to experience the passenger seat of a yellow Camaro himself.
The real obstacle in my quest for a bright, shiny, new yellow Camaro emerged during my research. Chevrolet, in their infinite wisdom, has decided to withhold the joy of yellow from their current Camaro palette. Red, blue, white, two shades of grey, and a shade of green so offensively bright it might be a misdemeanor in several states, yes. But yellow? No. To whoever is making these critical color decisions at Chevrolet headquarters: I must state, with all due respect (and a hint of exasperation), you are unequivocally mistaken. I strive for politeness in these columns, but even my patience has its limits.
Undeterred by the lack of yellow on the new car lot, I test drove a white Camaro. The wind-whipped hair may take days to untangle, but the sheer grin plastered across my face was worth every knot.
Woman smiling in a white Camaro
It’s undeniably impractical. The back seats are purely decorative for anyone beyond elementary school age. The trunk could generously accommodate a gallon or two of milk and perhaps a loaf of bread. And yet, I remain unfazed. The yearning for a yellow one persists. They are elusive, these yellow Camaros, but they exist in the pre-owned market, a few years seasoned, and my determination is unwavering. If the white one elicited such unadulterated joy, imagine the sheer elation a yellow one will unleash. I envision myself channeling the spirit of an 80s hair band video vixen, draped across the hood every single time I gracefully (or perhaps not so gracefully) lower my middle-aged frame into those barely-above-ground bucket seats.
My search for a yellow Camaro is on. Jon will be enlisted to assess its mechanical integrity. And then, my yellow Camaro and I will embark on adventures, perhaps even a quest to locate that missing salt shaker.
1 According to AutoTrader, the average person keeps a car for just under 6 years. This puts me comfortably above average, a statistic I perhaps shouldn’t boast about, yet here I am, subtly bragging. No doubt this fascinating tidbit will make its way into cocktail party conversations, assuming cocktail parties ever resume. https://www.autotrader.com/car-shopping/buying-car-how-long-can-you-expect-car-last-240725
2 Assuming I achieve the ripe old age of 100.
3 For the record, I successfully spelled Worcestershire on the first attempt. However, words like ‘personnel,’ ‘sheriff,’ and ‘Cincinnati’ continue to elude me without spell-check assistance. Double letters are my nemesis.
If you enjoyed this and want to read more like it, visit Lori at her website, www.loriduffwrites.com, on Twitter, or on Facebook. Her newest book, a Foreword INDIES Gold Medal award winner, “If You Did What I Asked In The First Place” is currently available by clicking here.
