In his younger days, the Spousal Equivalent had a whole bunch of the muscle cars. He'd get one and then trade it in for another one six months later. Rinse and repeat.
We'll go to a car show and he'll point out one....."I had a '67 just like that but mine was black" or "I had that same one but it was a '66".....
I ask him how much money he'd have today if he hadn't spent it all on muscle cars.
He knows them all, too. One will pass us up and he'll say, "Oh, man, that's the limited edition '67 GTO with the Framus Quadra-Doodle Double Hoopty-Doo cylinder housing and it had the Posi-Trapezoid suspension with the triple Doohicky Exhausts" (or something like that...I'm really not listening...).
If I see a car like that, my remarks would be, "Oh, look at that nice red car!" and I'd consider that sufficient.
If I had my druthers, though, I'd druther have a
'55 Bel Air convertible, crimson and cream, with fuzzy dice hanging from the rear-view mirror and a little bobby-head dog with eyes that lit up when I applied the brakess in the back window (when I had the top up, of course).
I'd get me a poodle skirt and some saddle oxfords and drive in all the parades throwing bars of Bonomo Turkish Taffy out the window.