What Are You Driving?

I loved driving this truck, but my kids didn't love me driving it

Sometimes, you can tell the car a person drives before you see it.

• The clerk in the Safeway? Explorer, a couple of years old, but no more car payments and that makes her proud.

• Miss Tidy Manners with the good shoes and that green tea? Mercedes, BMW, or Volvo. Leather seats only. Don't spill anything, kids.

• The short guy with the big chest? Is he going to need a boost to reach the cab?

• "Bernie" t-shirt with the braid? You know it. Prius with a bumper sticker that you'll have plenty of time to read when they're going 45mph in front of you in the left lane on the freeway.

I don't really care what car you drive (unless you're blocking the passing lane), but I like figuring out something about you from it.

A car can be a clue to the interior of a person in the same way that clothing or hair style is. Cars often reveal a bit about how we see ourselves, at least in America. (When I lived on an island in the East China Sea, I didn't care which rust bucket I was tooling around in. As long as it started and it took me where I needed to go, I was good with it.)

My cars in America have ranged from a Mini Cooper Countryman to a Toyota Tacoma to a couple of VWs, but I never did the minivan, despite having children. I just can't go there. And, no, I've never owned a Subaru. Right now, I'm driving too fast in a teched-out Mazda 3 and loving it. My license plate frame simply says "Be happy" ... because I am. Also, my kids have requested no more trucks. Apparently, I'm a little more aggressive when I drive a truck. Go figure. 

What are you driving? And why?