Destroy the Illusion of the “Refreshing Convertible” Right Now!
Smashing the “Convertible = Refreshing” Fantasy. First, I must apologize to my readers. When you hear “driving in a convertible,” what do you imagine? A cool breeze, lush green highlands, and a smiling family in the passenger seat…
…That’s a total fantasy! The reality is much harsher, and far more lonely!
The phrase “closing the top” doesn’t exist in my dictionary. In summer, I’m scorched by the blazing direct sunlight; in winter, I’m exposed to the freezing blast of the wind. So what? If the sky is open, I open the roof. That is my “logical (?)” conclusion.
Ranked Bottom of the Family Hierarchy!? The “VTEC-Level Roar” of My Wife’s Wrath
I’m not the only victim. On the rare occasions my daughter hitches a ride, she naturally falls prey to the direct sunlight. “Daddy, it’s hot!” “I’m getting sunburnt!”—her screams echo through the cabin. And after returning home, seeing our daughter’s reddened skin, my wife unleashes a roar sharper than a VTEC engine engaging.
“What on earth were you thinking!?”
…She’s absolutely right. I have no defense. And yet, I don’t stop. People might call me a “toxic parent” for forcing my daughter into a car that can’t even transport our family of five, only to let her get sunburnt. But there are some things I simply cannot compromise on.
24 Years Since Production… I’m Still Addicted to This “Legal Drug”
My S2000 turned 24 years old this year. For a human, that’s a fully-fledged adult; for a car, it’s a “veteran soldier” that could break down anytime, anywhere.
The reason I still won’t let it go is simple. It’s because of “that substance” that floods my brain the moment the VTEC switches to the high cam.
Speaking as someone who works for a pharmaceutical company, it’s basically a legal drug. That explosive sense of euphoria, that piercing sound. Even after 24 years, I’m still hopelessly addicted. It’s safe to say I’m past the point of no return.
Call Me a Suspect! The Fate of a Man Who Can Eat Three Bowls of Rice Just by Looking at His Clean Car
My condition is severe, and it’s not just about the drive. I am filled with an indescribable sense of bliss just by “going out to wash the car.”
Gazing at the shiny 24-year-old body I just polished, I nod to myself: “Yep, you look incredibly cool today too.” From the outside, I might just look like a suspicious middle-aged man or a total weirdo. But that’s fine with me.
Conclusion: He’s Just a “Happy Fool”
Inconvenient, hot, cramped, and getting scolded by my family. Objectively, it’s a situation that looks like a “negative legacy,” but right now, I am intensely happy.
This blog is the sad yet passionate chronicle of a man living in the gap between “his family’s cold stares” and “his 24-year-old beloved car.” To my readers: if you see a yellow S2000 blasting down the street with the top down and a sunburnt daughter inside, please just watch over us quietly.
Because what you’re looking at is just a “Happy Fool.”
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