I called the Honda dealer yesterday and today I got a call back from the salesman who reluctantly sold me my car. First he said, “Well, your car will come in anywhere from two days to two weeks. Well, wait a minute, the truck’s back there. Let me check to see if your car is here. I’ll call you back.”

So he calls me back and says, “OK, it’s here. You can pick it up tomorrow.”

I tell him that I wanted a couple of accessories, the iPod link and the steering wheel cover. He says, “I don’t have that written down. Wait, I remember now. I’ll have to find the parts guy. Let me call you back.”

He called back and I went by to give him photocopies of my license and registration. I saw my car and already I don’t like the color. I’m a guy, so I think it’s tan. The dealer says it’s something gray. My friends at the gym told me it’s called champagne. I’ll get used to it. In any case, tomorrow is the day that I trade in my sports car for my hybrid. It took some digging, but I did finally find the title to the car (and some shares of HP stock) buried in a pile of papers that I should have recycled a long time ago. Good thing I didn’t.

Oh, and my back hurt every time I sat for too long, but I still went to the gym. I should be asleep already, but I had to write a check for a friend’s walkathon. The things I get talked into because I can’t mind my own business at the gym.