I drive an Oldsmobile Alero. Grand car, really. But you see, thing is... I don't "own" it. My dad does. (Kinda what happens when you're 17) But as all teens are likely to do, I claim it's "my" car. Which my dad doesn't approve of. Our conversations go a little something like this:
Tacie: I think I left my wallet in my car. Let me go grab it.
Dad: Who's car?
Tacie: Oh, I think I left my wallet in the car. Let me go grab it.
Or maybe like this:
Dad: You need to clean my car out. It's dirty.
Tacie: You have a truck. Why would I clean your truck? You're the one who made it dirty. Unless you're willing to pay. Then I'll think about it.
Dad: No, you need to clean out my car. The one sitting across the street.
Tacie: Oh you mean the car I drive? My car? Eh, it's not that bad...
Dad: *rolls eyes* No.
So, hence this car is lovingly referred to as "the car" or "the Alero"
Because I know you all wanted to know that story...