Mid-Life Crisis

So you know that the Cap'n wants my car. Or more generally, he wants something sexier than a Volvo. He is a pilot, and pilots have certain unique needs. One is watches. Most of them very large. I cannot tell you how many watches that my husband has gone through in the last twenty-five years, and what is he wearing now? A self-winding Hamilton that he bought before we were married. Oh, the others are around. I learned early not to buy him nice watches, because he likes to take them apart, so many of the other are around, disassembled, in drawers and on trays, in various parts of the house.

So, he has been looking for a Jaguar XJS for some months, maybe years. He says there comes a time in a man's life that he needs twelve cylinders. I told him that between my six and his six, he already has twelve. Evidently that doesn't count.

Last weekend, we went to visit an1985 gray XJS HE in a neighboring town. It was owned by a former Jaguar mechanic, who had kept the thing in really very good shape, replacing parts with OEM parts; even the muffler is a British Leyland and not a Midas. It had not been driven in five years, but it had been started and moved weekly. It had no tags, it had no inspection stickers, it had no insurance. And the Cap'n loved it.

So, he bought it, and delivered it to his trusty mechanic José, and took the afternoon off for tagging and registration and such. He hopes to drive it to work later this week.

This is the kind of car that I used to call the "sorry about your penis" sort of car. I suppose I will have to stop doing that.

We are now a two-Jaguar family. The cost of both cars put together does not equal five figures. The Cap'n's philosophy is that when buying a car, one may either pay a bank or pay a mechanic. He prefers paying the mechanic.