Vroom, Vroom

I confess, I have an addiction. And it's my father's fault. He's the one who introduced me to my compulsion of choice. But if I'm going to admit to something so shameful, I should follow the appropriate steps. So let's do this right.

Hi. My name is Melia, and I'm a Top Gear fan. I watch it on YouTube. I watch it at my parents' house. I search it out via Google. I need a fix at least every other day. I've seen every episode at least one--some more than five times. Like the race to Blackpool, or the amphibious cars challenge. Those were awesome. Oh, am I getting off topic? I guess so. Anyway, I love it because it makes me laugh--and because it captivates my toddler sufficiently to give me ten minutes of peace at a pop. And it's educational.

How so, you ask? Well, I can now speak somewhat coherently on the characteristics of the Bugatti Veyron. I can discern between a Ferrari and a Lamborghini at five paces. Those are vital skills in some settings, I'm sure. I have no idea what those settings may be, but when I find myself in one, I will be ready.

Furthermore, this knowledge is applicable to my life. No really. Stop laughing. True, I no longer drive. And even if I did, a half-million dollar supercar would hardly be a practical. Fun for a carefree weekend, yes, but not helpful for a mom who spends most of her time hauling things like multiple children and big packages of toilet paper around. You know, those things don't even come with luggage racks on top, so no possibility of stashing superfluous humans or tissue purchases there. But, because of my addiction I have recently made a discovery: my stroller is a Porsche.

Think about it: a Porsche has two seats, so does my stroller. A Porsche is open-roofed (well, some of them are), so is my stroller. A Porsche draws attention from crowds, so does my stroller. Here's the kicker: a Porsche's engine is at the back. My stroller's engine--that would be me--is also at the back. True, my stroller has more carrying capacity than a Porsche, but in all the really essential things like number of wheels, ability to steer, and transportational capability, they are the same.

So, the next time you see me walking down the street with my hair blowing in the wind as I stylishly stroll along with my convertible two-seater, I give you permission to be just a wee bit jealous. After all, I am driving a Porsche.