One day, a few years ago, before we even started the remodel, the four of us were up in San Francisco for the day. After we had a fabulous lunch in the Marina district, we were driving to Fisherman’s Wharf, intent on getting get sundaes at Ghirardelli.
On Van Ness Avenue, I said, “I think I’m having a midlife crisis.”
“You…wait, what?” Darin said.
“I want to buy a convertible.”
“Okay, for one thing, that is a not a midlife crisis, that is just…wanting a change of pace. For another thing, don’t call it a midlife crisis, that had me in another conversation entirely. And for another, convertibles are a pain in the ass. Why would you want a convertible?”
“Dunno,” I said. “I just suddenly do. I was looking at some cars going by recently and I thought, ‘I’d really like to drive around in a convertible.'”
“Well, you’ve had the Odyssey for several years now, maybe it’s time to think about getting a new car.”
“I don’t want a new car. The Odyssey is a great car. It’s just that I want a convertible. Everybody I know has had a convertible.”
“Yes, and then they all got rid of their convertibles and bought good cars.”
“You have a point there.”
“Do you know what kind of convertible you want?”
“Oh yes,” I said. “I want an SL 500.”
From the look on Darin’s face, I could tell he was rethinking the whole “midlife crisis” analysis.
“Are you sure about this?”
“I don’t want to get one right now. I’m just thinking about it.”
Which is part of the reason that after this conversation I didn’t push the issue. I often get weird obsessions about things, and over time they would fade. Probably, most likely, almost certainly, this would happen too.
Or, you know… maybe not…