It turns out I didn’t just grow up. I became the type of bloke I used to take the piss out of.
Back in the early 80s, when I was growing up, one of my friend’s mums had a black BMW.
And to my teenage mind, that was pretty much all the evidence I needed. This was around the time Yuppies were starting to become a thing. Young. Successful. Fancy clothes. Fancy jobs. Fancy cars. And, obviously, a BMW.
So I decided she must be a Yuppy.
More specifically…
Mrs Yuppy.
I have absolutely no idea whether she actually was a Yuppy. She probably wasn’t. But I do remember the black BMW. And I definitely remember Mrs Yuppy herself. She wasn’t exactly tall. In fact, saying she wasn’t tall doesn’t really do it justice.
She was about 2 or 3 cushions tall.
I’m not joking.
She needed two or three cushions on the driver’s seat just so she could see over the steering wheel. And there she was, sitting behind the wheel of this big black BMW, looking like she was about to close a major business deal.
To my teenage mind, the evidence was overwhelming – Black BMW – Fancy car – Tiny driver – Cushions = Yuppy.
Mrs Yuppy. 😂to be more precise.
I never questioned the logic.
It was flawless.
Fast forward about 35 years…
I’ve just bought my fifth new BMW.
Yep.
Five.
At some point during those 35 years, something clearly went badly wrong. Because apparently I didn’t just stop calling people Yuppies…
I became one.
😂
Although, in my defence, I’m pretty sure I’m still not a Yuppy. I’m just a bloke who appears to have developed a rather unhealthy recurring problem with buying BMWs.
One BMW could be a coincidence.
Two might be a preference.
Three starts to look like a pattern.
Four is probably a problem.
Five?
Yeah.
I’m going to have to accept that this might be who I am now. And that’s the funny thing about getting older. When you’re young, you spend an awful lot of time looking at adults and thinking:
“I’ll never be like them.”
You look at what they drive. What they wear. The things they worry about. The things they spend their money on.
And then one day you look in the mirror and realise…
Bloody hell.
I am them. 😂
And perhaps that’s one of the strange things about getting older. You don’t necessarily notice yourself changing. It happens gradually. Until one day you suddenly realise you’ve somehow become the person you thought was old, boring or slightly ridiculous when you were younger.
Except I’m not sure I’m ready to admit I’m a Yuppy. I’m still fairly certain I’m just a bloke who likes cars.
Nice cars.
BMWs.
Apparently five of them.
So perhaps I owe the original Mrs Yuppy an apology.
Well…
I actually did.
We’re still Facebook friends, and yes, she still remembers me calling her Mrs Yuppy all those years ago.
And yes…
I apologised. 😂
Although I’m not entirely sure she ever accepted that the cushions were a necessary part of the story.
All those years ago, I thought I’d figured her out because she drove a black BMW. Turns out she might just have known something I didn’t. Because here I am, 35 years later, doing exactly the same bloody thing.
Maybe she wasn’t a Yuppy after all. Maybe she just liked driving a nice car. And maybe that’s what I’ve been doing all along.
Although…
Five BMWs?
I’m starting to lose the argument with myself.
