The one place you won’t find a Subaru is in Dear Richard’s driveway, our everyday car park. He’s a domestic sorta guy.

We got chatting about our old car favorites and I realized how much he enjoyed his “big boats” from the 60s and 70s. Back then you could buy 8 horsepower under the hood of your 19-foot behemoth. And probably stash four bodies in the trunk.

The sheer enormity of our cars back in the day are a stark contrast to our everyday runarounds today. When you live a long time, there are a lot of automobiles in your memory bank.

During our car conversation, Richard looked back at me with love on his face – not directed toward me, but at the memories of driving his Buick Regal, his Plymouth Fury III or any one of his Chevy Impalas. “Those were the days,” as Archie Bunker would have sung.

I actually don’t mind the more compact size of my current Honda. In fact, I like it.

It’s maneuverable, easy on the wallet and super comfortable. It’s 15 feet long vs. 19 feet of the enormous Ford Country Squires wagons I drove in the 1970s and 80s. But I don’t need to pack toddler toys or college wardrobes anymore. For me, comfort is critical.

I like to drive and don’t even mind long trips. But my elbow has to rest on just the right cushioned armrest. My uber-curved spine has to hit the pitch of the seat – just so. In fact, I’m a pain in the neck visiting an auto showroom. I want to sit in the vehicle to see where my bones land.

If my neck, shoulders, lower back, elbow, wrists, butt and knees hit the right spots, the car is 90% sold. I’ll worry about the mileage after I fondle the bottom curvature of the wheel, where my hands sit to drive. The heated steering wheel. Ah, yes.

The last time I was looking for a new vehicle, I stopped in a Subaru showroom.

I had a few friends who were ecstatic about their Foresters and Outbacks. They are a very loyal crowd, these Subaru fans. I decided that I, along with my hip and knee buddies, would check it out. Nope. Nothing hit in the right spot.

To place each part of mine on its assigned part of the Subaru, was just this side of torture. For probably only me, it was downright uncomfortable. Their Impreza was un-impressive also.

And yet we see them all over town. We both acknowledge that they are a smart buy. The Subarus are good performers, well built, and noted for their safety features. Agreed.

But it turns out that I am really not qualified to own a Subaru. Neither is Dear Richard. Neither of us could possibly be as law-abiding or as attentive to the exact posted speed on our byways. I need to confess that we both have a bit of a lead foot. I won’t say we are aggressive drivers. But maybe a little assertive, particularly when we’re behind a car putt-putting along at 43 mph in a 50 mph zone. Or that other excruciating time waster: idling behind Chicken Charlie who won’t pull out of the parking lot even though the car bearing down on him is 2 miles away.

It was a few years ago when we first noticed something about these Creepy Crawlers. They are almost always driving a Subaru. Slowly. Very slowly.

That’s OK. They bought the Subaru for its safety… and reliability. To a person, they are conservative, safe drivers. But they all have a devious life plan: drive in front of Marcy or Richard, especially when they are in a hurry.

When I ride with Dear Richard, every time we pass a Subaru, he makes a sucking noise. “Ha! Got another one,” he grins.

Last night, as we were headed for an intersection, the yellow light appeared and the car in front of us slammed on its brakes. There was plenty of time. “Look what it is,” said Richard, pointing at the Subaru logo.

“Of course. What did you expect?” I replied. “He was required to stop. He read his Subaru manifesto.”

Don’t get me wrong, Subaru drivers. We respect you. Part of me even admires you. I know you are not allowed to go faster, lest the Subaru gods revoke your membership card.

But I have a favor to ask you law-abiding travelers. Could you please not drive when I need to?

Thank you. I knew you’d understand.

Marcy O’Brien can be reached at moby.32@hotmail.com