Husband: "We're going northwest now. Wait, north. How's the temperature? It's 72 degrees in here now, but I can make it 73, 74. How's that? Want to know how many miles I have left on this tank of gas? Average miles per gallon?"

My husband, at nearly 30 years old, bought a new car, his very first new car.

I guess this must mean his hand-me-down karma is wearing off. I've never known anyone who has been given more cars. A blessing, for sure, if not exactly a treat. Mostly, it's been a long parade of air conditioning that never worked, bubbling body rust, indeterminate engine troubles, radios that only got reception when you stuck your left leg out the window and upholstery that smelled vaguely of wet dogs.

But perhaps the hand-me-down karma has mutated into car-sale karma. Through a fortuitous aligning of the stars, rebates, haggling and a dealer that needed room for a new model, my husband - king of the stinky interiors and cracking dashes - has leather seats, wood trim, a moon roof and more electronic gadgets than the Mars Rover.

Yesterday, he spent half an hour adjusting the eight-way lumbar support.

It's cute really, even if our conversations keep going like they have been.

Me: "Do you want spaghetti for dinner?"

Husband: "When I drove into the garage, my headlights came on BY THEMSELVES."

Me: "Uh huh. Spaghetti?"

Husband: "Did you see how the back seat folds all the way down?"

Me: "Okay, we're having spaghetti."

This weekend is planned around leather seat sealant and car waxing, but I'm figuring this is just a phase. It really can't go on forever...right?

Me at bedtime: "Goodnight, dear."

Husband: "My rearview mirror has an automatic dimmer."