Splendid weekend really. Friday night - read about it on laurianclem.blogspot.com ("The Tale of Two Shirts.")
One thing that I have noticed about myself increasingly, is that, well, I am addicted to Steve's car. It's a gold Audi A3, with a sound system so superb, you actually want to be stuck in traffic. With seats so comfy, brakes so brakey and a turbo engine that flies from the stop street at something like 0-100 km/h in 7 seconds. I am in absolute euphoria driving this machine, that I am infatuated with a car.
It's getting unhealthy. I'm sitting, mooching really, around the house on Saturday and get all fidgety. This craving overbears me, as I grab the keys, and head for the garage. Then I drive all over Johannesburg willy-nilly, with nowhere to really go, except to blast dodgy music from the sepakers, windows down and bass up. Serious porn star material.
I've even resorted to burning CDs every single day, so that I have special compilations to load into the CD shuttle.
Wen Steve gets back, as much as I can't wait, it may get nasty. When I have to hand over the car. I might even cry. Don't think I won't.
I am in love with a car. Do I need therapy, or is this what avant garde women of the 2000's do instead of a man?