the story of an automobile

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...