I drove my dad’s car around today. It’s a Honda S2000 - a spiffy fast red convertible. I drove to Panera to get lunch for my dad and sis and this whole section of the restaurant was looking at me as I got out: unshaven, T-shirt with a geek joke, cargos.
I’m usually pretty uncomfortable zipping around in my dad’s cars. He used to have a BMW 850i when I was just learning how to drive. The thing was so big and had tinted windows over everything but the windshield. I felt like I was in that ultra black car from the Hitchhiker’s Guide. The one that flies into the sun. It’s not so much worrying about crashing it. I know I’m a pretty good driver. It’s more the looks I get that make me uncomfortable. The ones that say, “Nice car, daddy’s boy.” I want to hang a sign out that says, “This is the only car in the house!” but somehow that would make it a lot worse, I’m guessing.
Anyway, the more I drove the S2000 today, the more comfortable I got. When I drove to dinner, I had the Dirty Vegas CD blasting and the top down and I made it to my destination in 2/3 the time I thought it would take.
Now I’m not so sure I want my car to get fixed. 
And the looks? I don’t even notice them.