That's awesome.
The day my Dad's soul died a little was the day he traded in his first Porsche for a Pontiac Safari Wagon when he found out that I was on the way and you couldn't legally fit him, my mom, future me, and a 50lb sled dog into the bright orange 914 he proudly bought himself after landing his first big job after college.
It was a very long time ago but I can still recall the sound it made as he sat down on the pleather bench seat behind the wheel that I was certain was a whoosh of air escaping the inner-tube-like construction. Only later in life did I come to find that it was actually him letting out a defeated sigh as he gave up a little more of his former self before turning over the ignition.
Like this: started life from the factory as butter yellow but for some reason was repainted doo-doo brown.
Happy to report he did wise up a few years later when he forced the sale of the Safari for a Volvo 760 Turbowagon for Mom and he started to refill the black hole in his heart in the form of another Krautmobile.
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