(This isn't actually Inga, but close. Someone borrowed our digital camera, so I'm substituting an Internet pic for the time being.)
After eight years of hard roof, I've finally reached the point where my kids are big enough to be hauled around without car seats. Woo hoo! And since DH's car was nice enough to implode--to the tune of $1600 worth of work we didn't want to pay for--we had to go car shopping. I shop. I shop some more. The Internet becomes my best friend. I finally find what I'm looking for in Tampa. Down the road I go. I fall in lurve.
So, DH gets the Passat, and I now have Inga, my 2003 New Beetle turbo convertible. It's a five-speed. It has black leather interior. It gets up and leaves on the highway.
Why Inga? One of my favorite German gals is Teri Garr's character in Young Frankenstein. Hey, if my new friend Mary can name her Mini "Stella" (which begs the question whether she stops dead in crowded parking lots and bellows for her car like Stanley Kowalski), I can have an Inga in my driveway.
I'm in lurve.
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