Objects of desire

Usually I am the antithesis of a car lover. First time I attended the North American Auto Show I was utterly shocked that they only had cars. No rides, no cotton candy, no farm animals, no carnival games, not even a place to sit down. So I squeezed into a hatchback with some reading material for the rest of the afternoon. People would open and shut the back of the car amazed how I fit inside there assuming I was a prop of the auto company.

Yet, I have always loved the Mercedes and Saabs made in the 1970’s. Still enough gleam of chrome to sparkle, but somewhat understated as if to say “yes, I have a full bank account, but I don’t have to yell about it.” The interior is smooth leather making it simple and elegant. The car doesn’t look angry like it is out to destroy any traffic, pedestrians, or yellow lights that get in its way.

I am just imagining that if I owned this car and the comfortable bank account to go with it perhaps I could have the inner confidence to forgo the McMansion and enormous SUV’s.

The wealthy could print out little cards with their bank balance on it and hand it out door to door. This would be both more efficient and less polluting. They could read it to themselves over and over again like a mantra or shallow meditation until their fears subside.