Humor, Lighter Side
Make it a flashy red (and totally impractical) convertible.
Philip Gulley
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Eight years ago, I purchased a Toyota Camry, a car known for its durability. I maintain my car, so expect it to last 300,000 miles, which means I’ll be driving it another 12 years unless, in a stroke of good fortune, I crash it and get to buy a new one. Anticipating that blessed event, I’ve been studying automotive brands, engine options — hybrids vs. internal combustion vs. electric — and type — sedans, coupes, SUVS, convertibles, muscle cars, trucks, hatchbacks, vans, and wagons. After exhaustive research, I’ve finally decided which car will be my next one:
I want a red one.
I’ve owned 15 cars, all of them beige or gray. My first new car, purchased when I was 22, was a brown station wagon. I was single and childless but wanted to be ready just in case I got married and had children. I purchase cars years before I have need of their intended purpose. My Toyota Camry was supposed to be my retirement car, which I bought 11 years before I intended to retire. When I acquired a truck, it was to move my then 2- and 5-year-old sons to college. My next car is going to be the one I should have purchased when I was 18 and bought a used beige Volkswagen Beetle. It’s going to be a red convertible with no rear seat. It won’t carry groceries, dogs, or grandchildren and will therefore be eminently impractical. For the first time in my car-buying life, I won’t consult Consumer Reports or discuss its reliability with my mechanic. I won’t worry about gas mileage, how it handles in the snow, or its resale value. I won’t fret over its safety rating. Dying quickly in a crash is far superior to dying slowly in a nursing home. Nor will I consider, even for a moment, what my fellow Quakers might think when they see me speed past in a red convertible. There are a Corvette, a Jaguar, a Miata, and an Audi convertible in our meetinghouse parking lot on Sunday mornings. The Jaguar man has a whole lot more fun in his car than the Subaru people do in theirs. I want my next car to be so flashy, the Quakers talk about me behind my back.
Six of my cars were purchased new, but even then I didn’t pick the color, settling for the discounted dregs from the previous model year, the colors no one else wanted. My next car is going to be everything I’ve ever wanted in a car but have never had, which is to say, retina-popping red. I want it so red it gives people headaches just to look at it.
My wife told me I’m having a midlife crisis, but my crisis began when I was 18 and bought the Volkswagen Beetle. The engine blew on the 31st day of a 30-day warranty, a harbinger of my automotive life, which has been a succession of blown engines, spongy brakes, leaky transmissions, broken axles, and seized bearings. Except for my Toyota Camry, which has been mind-numbingly perfect. It has never, not once, let me down. It is the faithful spouse who would never stray, the sensible shoes of cars, the Kenny G of transportation. If it were a religion, it would be a Presbyterian.
When I buy my red car, I’ll be acquiring a new wardrobe to go along with it, mostly leisure suits, just like I wore in 1979, with wide lapels, plaid ties, and white shoes. I’ll have to hire a bodyguard to keep the women back. He can ride with me in my red car, since I’m almost certain my wife will refuse to be seen with me.
Philip Gulley is a Quaker pastor and author of 22 books, including the Harmony and Hope series, featuring Sam Gardner.
This article is featured in the November/December 2025 issue of The Saturday Evening Post. Subscribe to the magazine for more art, inspiring stories, fiction, humor, and features from our archives.
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Cartoon Collections, Humor
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