Once upon a time there was a Girl:
And that Girl loved a car:
The Girl loved the car when she was 8 years old.
She loved it when she was 10 years old.
When she was 12 years old, the Girl asked for the car for her birthday.
Instead, she got $20, a homemade cake, and a sleepover with 3 of her closest friend.
When she was 16, the Girl asked for the car again for her birthday.
Instead, she go this:
And the Girl was happy.
And the Girl loved that car, too, and drove it and drove it and drove it for thousands and thousands of miles, until one day, on a road that was slippery with rain, the Girl and the car flipped over and over and the car was no more.
But that was ok, mostly, because the Girl walked away unhurt from something that could have and probably should have killed her.
She always thought the car saved her that day.
Later, the Girl got a truck (she was a country girl, after all), and went away to college, where she met a Boy.
The Boy and the Girl fell in love and got married, and even though the Boy didn't share the Girl's love for her special car, he knew all about it. Probably because the Girl talked about it all the time.
After the Girl and the Boy were established in their chosen professions, married, young, and somewhat stupid, the Boy got the Girl this:
And the Girl was happy.
And the Girl drove it and drove it and drove it until the Boy and the Girl had a baby, and then another, and the car was not practical for a family. And the Girl was ALWAYS practical.
So the Girl sold the car, and she was sad, but she was busy with other things, like raising the babies, and running in races and writing and cooking and cleaning and laughing and living.
Sometimes the Boy and the Girl would play the "What If" game, and the Boy always asked the Girl the same question:
"What if you could have any car you wanted? What would it be?"
And the Girl would always answer,
"Why this one:
And then the Girl and the Boy would laugh and smile and dream and go on with their lives.
Until one day, when the Girl was in the middle of raising the babies and running in races and writing and cooking and cleaning and laughing and living, she opened an envelope that came in the mail, and saw that the Boy had done something.
She sent him a text.
"Ummm... did you buy a car?"
The Boy answered:
"Why would you ask something like that?"
Which clearly wasn't a "NO" and meant only one thing.
And the Girl, the Girl who always wanted to control everything and know everything, didn't ask "How much?" or "Can we afford it?" or "Is it practical?" or "How much will insurance cost?" or any of the million and two other PRACTICAL questions in her head. Instead, she asked the Boy:
And the Boy answered:
"Because you deserve it and I wanted you to have it."
And the Girl, the Girl who clips coupons and shops at yard sales and dyes her own hair and scrimps and saves and is altogether cheap and PRACTICAL, said:
"I love it."