Right about when I thought I was safe, my new wife started making noises about my constantly trading cars. My solution was to buy her a nice car for herself. I bought her a cute red Mondial QV Cabriolet. It was supposed to be an improvement over the previous model, and the specs were good. Especially important, it was supposed to be very easy to drive.
I had it delivered to the house to try to surprise her. When my wife came home one day and the car was in the driveway, she asked me to move it as it was blocking her access to the garage. I told her it was her new car, and gave her the keys. We took the car for a spin, and after stalling a few times we emerged on the highway. The top was down, and the wind was blowing through our hair. I thought it was cool, but my wife had very curly hair and it made a mess of her hair. She hated it. On the way back we put the top up.
A few days later, she confronted me and told me that she appreciated my generous present, but couldn’t she have a small easier car for her to handle? The clutch was hard, the steering was hard, and it was too hard to drive. Now this did not mean a Toyota or a Chevy. It meant a Porsche. She dated some guy in college who had a Porsche and she always liked it. It took a while for me to figure it out, but my friend and neighbor, Guy G. at the Porsche dealership, was responsible for constantly telling my wife what safe cars Porsche had, etc.
So after a week we took the Mondial back to the Ferrari dealer and then drove over to the Porsche dealer to test drive a Porsche 944. She loved it and I was safe for a while.
A few months later when she was returning home with my son in a car seat next to her, a truck carrying steel construction beams hit a bump or a pot hole, and one of the steel beams bounced off the truck and landed on the hood of the 944. One foot further back and it would have killed her and our child.
No more sports cars for her. She wanted a tank. Specifically, a MB 300E.