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I’m a simple man with simple pleasures. If going home after a long day of blogging only to light a scented candle and fire up Frasier is wrong, I don’t want to be right.
Relationships are largely about compromise. Some people say that all compromise does is leave both parties unhappy, but those people are probably going through messy divorces trying to figure out who gets their airline miles. “Happy wife, happy life” rings true, even if you haven’t taken the dive into marriage yet.
But at some point, you need to take the foot that’s connected to your perfectly tanned ankle and kick through that line in the sand. A man can only get pushed so far before he reaches his breaking point and stands up for himself. You can have my weekends for your sip-and-see parties. You can con me out of golfing so I can go to Anthropologie with you. You can hijack my Friday night where I’d be sitting at the bar and force me to see a PG romantic comedy. That’s all fine.
The line, though, has never looked so clear. You can take my freedom, but you cannot take my station wagon.
I’m not a “car guy.” I never have been, never will be. I’m blood in the water when it comes to walking into an auto shop. Mechanics lick their chops when they see me awkwardly park at their establishment because they know they’re about to absolutely shell me. This is something that I can accept because my supple hands simply weren’t built for manual labor. They were built for blogging and shaping crabcakes.
There are just some vehicles that get my figurative motor running, though. Namely, and more recently, station wagons. They’re like pornography to me. 2012 Saab 9-3s. BMW 3 Series. Mercedes-Benz E-Classes. Audi A4s. I feel like I should clear my browser history after spending countless hours on eBay Motors and Google Image Search. I feel downright naughty with how I look at the trunk space that these things offer up.
I’ve even learned that you shouldn’t simply call them “wagons,” which has only furthered my addiction. “Estates” in England and “Avants” in Germany. Mmm, talk dirty to me. So classist, luxurious, and pretentious. My mouth is literally watering.
The problem here doesn’t lie in the price or the feasibility of one. No, they’re comfortable, affordable, and practical. This we know. The issue in and of itself lies with something far more intimidating than that.
My girlfriend.
Simply put, she refuses. She doesn’t look at these in the same light that I look at them. My hands trembled in fear as I sent out this tweet, hence why I spelled “hatchback” as “hatback.”
As you can understand, I’ve been living these recent months in fear. How can I engage in such a relationship with someone who doesn’t share the same passion and fervor as I? How can I go through life feeling the void that not having a station wagon would leave me with? How can I look her in the eyes when my mind is thinking about something else that’s equally as beautiful? It’s not cheating, but it might as well be with how I feel whenever I see a 2005 Volvo V70 pass me at 65 miles per hour on the highway?
I didn’t get a springer spaniel puppy because I didn’t want to her to grow up not hanging out the back window of a forest green BMW E39 Touring, but she’s not seeing this eye-to-eye. No, “they’re for old people,” she tells me. “They’re hideous,” she continues. “This is a bit,” she insists.
But no. This is no bit. This is not a schtick. This is pure, unadulterated heat for a three-windowed economy car with enough trunk space to fit golf clubs, skis, or enough cricket equipment to outfit an entire international side.
I sit here a defeated a man. A man with no compass. A man with no true north. A man, sitting in front of a woman, asking her if I can buy a used station wagon. .
Respond
Will
Will (Twitter / Instagram) is the host of The Sunday Scaries Podcast.
@willdefries
@willdefries
defriewf
will@grandex.co
Just buy it and next year around November plan a trip to Paris.
If a 1986 Wood Paneled Jeep Wagoneer doesn’t put a little lead in your pencil I don’t know what will.
That’s why it’s called a Woody Wagon! I’m all about the ’89, black, navy, or hunter green exterior, tan interior option
I was looking at these yesterday and now I understand the way Willy D feels about station wagons.
To be fair, a weekend of Anthro and rom-coms does sound dope.
Will, check out the new Volvo V90 Cross Country. Straight porno.
*drooling emoji*
Jesus Christ you’re not wrong….
Okay, I have to ask. What the hell is a sip-and-see party? Somebody help me out, please.
If you have a baby, you throw a party for people to sip on drinks and see your baby. Almost as millennial as a baby moon.
Okay then, so it’s like a birthday party without the birthday. Follow up, what is a baby moon?
Honey moon type trip after you have a kid because your social life is effectively ruined for the next 13ish years
It’s before the baby is born so you can pretend that your marriage is going to be just as romantic after the baby is born aka denial
I feel like it’s more of a fast-type trip where you binge on freedom and fun before you’re a walking zombie for 6 months because of no sleep. Like a Fat Tuesday for your Lent which lasts 18-22 years.
A baby shower for after you have the baby.
I have a used lawnmower out back you can buy if you want that too.
Had a ’96 Volvo wagon in high school with the two seats that faced the back and had a turbo under the hood. You’ll regret not being the coolest guy on the block the rest of your life. Buy the car.
the new Jaguar XF Sportbrake gives me cummies
new leader in the clubhouse
TexasCPA likes this
Fun little anecdote: I used to work at BMW Credit and, as an employee, you got a free car on lease. Well, my boss, real smart guy, ordered a E39 (known as a 5 series in the US) but got it because it was the E39t. He was really surprised when the car arrived and it was a wagon. We all said, “yea man, t for Touring”. He thought the t meant Turbo. Hence forth, he was known as Turbo. Enjoy your Friyay!
How did he order an e39 assuming you worked there within the last decade?
“Babe, I’m only thinking about how we’re going to eventually carry around our kids”