When I was in high school there was nothing I wanted more than a car. In my neck of the woods kids often received new or almost new vehicles in which to blast music and arrive at parties whenever they saw fit. My car was thirteen years old and it belonged to my grandfather. It had manual windows. The air conditioner didn't work. It didn't even have a tape player, and it was robin's egg blue. For those who don't know, the bar of alongside this page is similar in color.

I was grateful to even have a car, and I definitely didn't feel as though I deserved a brand new Mercedes which was not the case with some kids in my town. I really did like that little car, but I dreamed of owning an automobile which would turn heads upon my arrival. People would stop and say, "Wow, she's got a hot car." I thought it would never be. My freshman year of college the yearning for such things fizzled and faded as I was immersed into a completely foreign environment but as soon as I settled in I was hungry for a car again, and I scoured website upon website looking for information so that I could pick out the perfect one. It had to be just right, and I found it: white, two doors, brand new, no one had touched it. And then I bought it. All those hours of Dairy Queen, all those customers I dealt with, all the groceries I bagged, it was all worth it and I would have done it all again if I had to. For when my mother picked me up from the airport and I saw what my four years of working had reaped I almost cried. The car was absolutely beautiful, and the most wonderful part of all was that I owned it. My parents had not surprised me with it, no one else had had the pleasure of driving it before me. I opened the door and drowned myself in the scent of new car. It was such an incredible, overwhelming feeling. I don't think I slept for two days. I was sad to have to fly back to school and leave my precious child sitting in the garage, but she'll be there when I return for Christmas. Most of my friends said that the warm glow of new car would wear off in a week but I think it'll take a tad longer for me. Maybe I'm crazy, maybe I am obsessed and materialistic but I don't care. Nothing feels as good as knowing you went out and worked for what you wanted.