A serious case of convertible envy

As the temperatures rise and the sun shines bright, I miss the convertible I had back in my younger days.

Okay, it wasn't technically MY convertible. It was a rental and I only drove it for a couple of days. And it was just a year ago, so I wasn't really that much younger.

I was traveling alone, scoping out the area before we moved to California, and trying to decide where I wanted to live. When I went to pick up my rental car, the agent asked if I would like a free upgrade to the sports car.

I did.

You can read all about that lovely journey here, but my topic today is the fallout from that experience. It was so much fun cruising around with the top down, and now every time I drive anywhere, I can't help but notice every shiny, sporty convertible that goes by. This being California, we get quite a bit of sunshine and there are an awful lot of convertibles.

We are a one-car family and most days, I don't even want a car. But, I really, really want a convertible.

I realize this makes no sense. A convertible is a car. Logic and all that.

The thing is I don't want to buy a convertible. I don't want to own a convertible. I would never drive my kids around in a convertible. Even when I had a car, I was all about safety. Before we bought our van I spent hours online reading reports and reviews, comparing the crash test ratings of different models. Aside from piling the kids in the back of a pickup truck, there is probably no car less safe than a convertible.

So I don't really want a convertible.

It's just that I really, really, really want a convertible.