Tag: nostalgia

Bougie

Boo͞′zhē

From the French, Bourgeoisie. A member of the materialistic middle class.

Or, an intrusive medical instrument favored by urologists.

We’re talking about the first citation, articulated by a neighbor after throwing down 3 Manhattans; ironically, a hoity-toity cocktail preference for a man who dares call me rich.

Back in the 1960s, my dad informed me that a millionaire was not a wealthy person. I was shocked to hear it — but Dad was a wise man and now, given perspective and adjusting for inflation, I can say with certainty the wife and I are not rich.

That said, I can see where it’s coming from. I married a terrific gal and hung onto her for 50 years. Other men are intuitively jealous. How did I do it, they wonder, and naturally assume I was prosperous.

Which brings me to the story of a cash register clerk who commented on my appearance in the checkout lane, attired in motorcycle racing leathers.

She said, “You look hot.”

“Yes,” I replied. “Yes, I am.”

That was a long time ago. These days, I look bougie.

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A Satisfied Customer

A few days ago, a fellow author asked her Facebook audience, “What was the best purchase you ever made?” I replied with a photo of my eighth motorcycle, bought new in 2004.

I was fifty-four at the time. I’d taken a long break from the activity, then resumed with a 1976 Kawasaki 900, a version of which I’d owned in 1974.

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Nostalgiafied

Inspired by posts about cars people wish they still had, I found a photo of my 1962 Mercedes-Benz 220, a possession I should have kept for a lot of reasons — including the fact it would have been a good investment.

But then, remorse over cast-away treasures is a common experience as we age. Sometimes we discover such articles in a sock drawer, or hidden on a shelf, joyful we didn’t discard them after all. That won’t happen with the car — I distinctly remember selling it to a nurse who worked at Deaconess Hospital.

I had bought it from my girlfriend’s older sister in 1971, for $600. It cost $3500 new, and was only nine years old. Although afflicted with a slipping clutch, I thought it was a bargain. That said, I was in college, too poor to be an auto enthusiast, too dumb not to be.

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