I grew up in a small town. In said small town, because of the small population, it was almost always possible to identify a passing car and name its inhabitants. You knew when your parents had arrived to pick you up from school because they were the only people in town to have THAT minivan. Likewise, you could tell what your boyfriend was up to by cruising past the local hangouts and searching for his car.
I have, rather strangely, held onto the habit of identifying people by their cars, even though I now live in a very large city. Not only that, certain cars still carry emotional significance, even when I know that the people I associate with them have a) gotten other cars since the one I recognize as theirs and b) live hundreds of miles away. Nevertheless, there are still cars that make me jump in fear a little and cars that send butterflies dancing through my abdomen.
I still get butterflies when I see blue Ford F150s and burgundy Sonatas, and I cringe a little inside when I see white Sable station wagons or small maroon luxury cars. I get an urge to wave at purple Ford Windstars and blue Dodge Neons. I may never see a white family van with a green stripe without getting the faintest taste of energy bars and smell of new tennis balls in my nostrils. Just looking at light blue Ford Tauruses makes me queasy. And large utility vans and ancient pickup trucks will forever make me think of ASP staff.
I know that the strangers I mistakenly wave to probably think I'm crazy. But things stick with you like that. I'll probably develop a liking for classic cars when I'm very old as a result. Who knows?