My parents are buying me a car. It's a white Toyota Camry. Here's my favorite part--it's as old as I am. I'll be squeaking and squawking all over Provo.
My cousin says it's a good little car. She's had it for the past five years. It needs a few repairs, but it's mine. She's saving it for me until I come out there.
I probably shouldn't get excited over a car that burns oil, needs a new windshield, and has a broken speedometer, but I haven't had my own car since high school. I had a '91 Ford Taurus my junior year. It stopped moving after a small engine fire. Next was an '89 Ford Tempo. My best friend sold it to me when her parents bought her a new car, and my brother trashed it when I left for college. The poor car wasn't worth much after it threw a rod.
No longer will I have to plead for rides to the grocery store or Walmart. I can even drive to Salt Lake and back without a problem (I hope). Plus I like the sound of "my car." "Do you need a ride? I drove my car"