Since going back to work, Mac and I have been sharing vehicles, or maybe it would be more correct to say, using each other's car. Though both car titles are in both of our names, the truck is Mac's and the Corolla is very difinitely mine. But the carseat only fits in the Corolla, and so I head off every day in the truck.
Getting into a vehicle after Mac has driven it requires a slew of adjustments: The seat is too far back, the backrest is too far reclined, the rearview mirror is out of alignment, the radio is on way too loud, and the air conditioner is on way too high. Additionally, I have to make several mental adjustments. The Corolla has manual transmission and I often find my left foot on the truck brake as it searches for the missing clutch. His radio presets are all wrong, particularly that hard rock station residing at preset number two. And I can't tell you how many times I have tried to unlock the truck with the Corolla key.
Mostly, I hate driving the truck. It is a gas-guzzling behemoth of a vehicle more suitable for a monster car-rally than a daily commute. Entering the truck requires acrobatic agility on the days I wear a skirt and the thing requires almost a bus length of curb space to parallel park. It's no easy manuever to get it into a regular lot either as it doesn't exactly have a turning radius to brag about.
But every now and then a wave of pleasure washes over me while driving the truck: I kick ass! I could mow down any little Honda or Saturn out there. I am king of the road!
My satisfaction lasts just until those Hondas and Saturns swiftly and easily pull into a parking space ahead of me while I fumble around to get my vehicle parked properly; then I want my Corolla back.
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