Paul is the man. Not The Man, as in corporate drone who takes over a small but vibrant company leaving only a soulless wake of memos and bureaucracy, usually ending in a re-org announced with Krispy Kreme doughnuts and coffee from Starbucks, as a special treat.
He is the guy whose blood, sweat and tears got us through the process of buying a car. (Actually I did contribute on the tears front.) There were emails, wire transfers, phone calls and international insurance policies drafted, plus the requisite forms, stamps and stickers you’d expect in Italy. In an interesting twist, it all went through an interpreter: a peppy, Polish friend of the seller who’s also a former nun, future student of the London School of Economics and would-be cleaning lady for us in the meantime. SO, two days later, we’re the proud owners of our own macchina! Timing couldn’t be better because the Roman transit workers are on strike today, except for 5pm-8pm (for their dinner I presume?). So I get to zip down to my appointments in my own car, a marked improvement over waddling around trying to catch public transport, usually just as it pulls away. Italians, you can have your seats back, thanks!
Now about the rig. It’s an A-180 and those Germans did good; a combination of small footprint plus roomy interior can’t be beat. It’s a great little car, sort of like the Vibe but nicer. Closer to a Smart car, if it had four doors and a bigger boot. We’ve got room for parents, a car seat, stroller and one giant dog. Plus, I think it’s cute. And that counts.
*Photo disclosure: My usual photographer was at work today (you know, Paul) so I took these pictures while trying to walk/convince Carter to move out of the way on the sidewalk, under an overcast sky. It’s more lovely in person but just for a visual…