Another thing I’d look for, if I were in the market for a horse, is side airbags. The BMV has ‘em. Overprotective mother that I am, they give me a feeling of security. So I’d need two of those. As you know, one of my favorite features of the BMV is its heated leather seats. When I first began mentioning these to Mr. Schrock back in the days of Old Red, our now-retired van, he whiffled and huffed. It took some doing, but I finally convinced him that as Susie, nemesis of Calvin and his friend Hobbes, said, “Girls have more delicate heinies.” Further, I added, I’d be tickled pink if I could have a warm one during the winter months. God love that man for saying yes. Now, after two years now, I’d be hard pressed to give those up. There’s one other tiny little thing that keeps me from abandoning my gas-powered vehicle entirely. That’s the “B” in the BMV. As I’ve explained in the past, cell phone and car shopping is very simple for me. I start with a color. For phones, it’s pink. For vehicles, it’s blue or red. This method saves all kinds of tire kicking and looking under hoods, which is how males go about it. I’m not asking for a fancy paint job; certainly, no flames on the hood or elaborate pin striping. Just a pretty shade of blue or an elegant dark red; that’s all. Since you can’t paint a horse to order, that leaves me with what I’ve got. I could take up bicycling as an economical alternative. If it wasn’t such a – well, “fresh air” vehicle, I’d think about it. It’s just that with curly hair that’s already prone to frizzing, the least little bit of rain as I’m pedaling along would have it bushing out to twice its normal volume. When it gets like that, I avoid lighters, sparks, and open flames like the plague. One ember lands wrong, and I’ve got the original burning bush going on. Hey, you have your fears. I have mine. Then there’s this. When I go uptown to write at the coffee shop, my backpack goes along. It’s gotten so heavy that if I were to wear it while biking, I’d list noticeably to the left, wobbling around in a suspicious manner. I’d rather not have to blow into that one thingie to prove that all I’ve had to drink is a protein shake and that I’m fit to be on the road. Since biking is out and horses don’t come in shiny blue with gas pedals, I guess I’ll keep driving my BMV. That way, my hair stays dry, my seat stays warm, and the pack doesn’t throw my back out of place. Oh, and I can get to the grocery store quicker where we can all play that one game together. It’s called “That Price Just Ain’t Right.” According to the latest news reports, there is hope that the price of fuel may be trending downward. I’ll drink (a mocha) to that, but I believe I’ll just drive on down to the coffee shop to get it, if you don’t mind.