My toyota rav4 think it's a sports car, and it's kind of right.

I never thought I’d bond with a machine. But that changed the day I bought a used 2017 Toyota RAV4.

You see, I needed something practical—room for groceries, occasional road trips, and a car that wouldn’t cry every time gas prices went up. The dealer sold me on the RAV4 by calling it “the reliable middle child of Toyota.” That should’ve been a red flag. Middle children always crave attention. And mine? Oh boy.

I named her Ravi. She looked innocent—silver paint, clean interior, the usual. But from day one, Ravi had an attitude. The first time I started her, the GPS told me, “Proceed to the route.” But she sounded like she was rolling her eyes at me. I ignored it. Until she started showing signs of rebellion.

Our first big test was a family road trip to Colorado. Ravi had never seen mountains, and I think she thought we were going on a “Fast & Furious: Snow Drift” mission. I was cautiously climbing the highway when Ravi decided to show off. She gunned it on an uphill curve, passing a Subaru with the confidence of a Ferrari. My wife screamed. The kids cheered. I cried.

“Ravi!” I shouted, slamming the brakes. “You’re a compact SUV, not a racecar!”

She didn’t care.

The next issue happened at the car wash. The guy in front of me had a big fancy Mercedes. Ravi, clearly jealous, decided to refuse to go into neutral. I tried everything. Held the brake. Flicked the gearstick like I was in a Mario Kart race. Nothing. The car wash attendant stood there confused while Ravi beeped repeatedly, like she was mocking me.

“Is it your first time driving?” he asked.

“No,” I muttered. “But it’s her first time being this dramatic.”

Somehow Ravi understood shame. She shifted into neutral exactly one second after I was publicly embarrassed.

Then there’s the music.

I like jazz. Ravi? Apparently, she prefers early 2000s pop. Every time I plug in my phone, she randomly shuffles to "Oops!... I Did It Again” by Britney Spears. I’ve deleted it. I’ve tried different apps. She still finds a way to play it at the worst moments.

Like the time I gave a ride to my new boss. The engine started, the screen lit up, and boom—"I'm not that innocent!" blasted through the speakers. My boss stared. I panicked. Ravi was having fun.

But the true peak of our relationship was during a camping trip.

We were in the middle of nowhere—no signal, no backup, just me, my friends, and Ravi. She did well getting us to the camp, even handled some off-roading. I was proud of her. Until she locked us out. Yes, the car locked itself—with my keys, phone, and wallet still inside.

We stood in the woods, helpless, while Ravi sat there like a smug little tank.

“She’s mad,” one friend said.

“Why?” I asked.

“You didn’t let her play Britney today.”

We eventually got back in using a coat hanger and some creative cursing. Ravi beeped, like she was laughing.

The funny part is, despite everything, I love that car.

She may have attitude, she may be obsessed with pop music, and she may have embarrassed me more than my own teenage years, but she’s loyal. She’s climbed snowy roads, carried groceries, protected me in traffic, and started every single morning, no matter what.

And deep down, I think Ravi just wants to be more than she is. She doesn’t want to be “a practical SUV.” She wants to be cool. She wants to feel like she matters. And honestly? I respect that.

We all have a little Ravi in us—reliable, but with a secret dream of being on stage, racing the wind, or at least... beating the Subaru next to us.

Moral of the Story:

Even when life gives you a practical car, it doesn’t mean it can’t have personality. Or a taste for Britney Spears.

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