I'm an Alfisti from way back.
I've also dated a stripper or five.
I've always said that driving an Italian car is like dating a stripper. The 10% of the time when things are going well...they are REALLY going well.
Of course 90% of the time it's nothing but drama, maintenance, and the constant state of fear about the next blow-up.
With time, and enough late-night calls for bail money, I eventually took the Dalai Lama's advice about not losing the lesson and gave up the stripper habit.
Unfortunately, I persisted with my beloved GTV6 even though the electrical system was more neurotic than one of my exes off her meds. Even a backfire on startup that blew the plenum cover off and scorched the hood didn't deter me from throwing more money at the thing with the liberal foolhardiness of a blue-state legislator, hoping the inherently schizophrenic Italian engineering, combined with spit and bailing wire, would keep the thing on the road.
And every damn time that I was at my wits end, the thing would burble to me through its Ansa exhaust and give me a lustrous ride in the saddle that kept me coming back for more punishment.
At the egging of my first gainfully employed and college-educated girlfriend, I moved from Alfas to BMWs. The reliability and fun factor was still there but happily without the constant automotive uncertainties I'd grown used to.
Fast forward over 14 years through 4 Bimmers and 2 Minis to the 1M which is about as perfect of a car that I have ever driven.
The funny thing is that I still find myself combing the Alfa section of eBay looking at Duettos or GTV6s, after all this time. I think all car-guys are like that. Or maybe it's just human nature in general--we crave exactly the things that are worst for us.
To wit, I am aware of Alfa's agonizingly slow return to the US. I am also aware of the 4C and am at the rack with my dollar bils. However, I'm going to play this one smart. You see, I have a couple of perfectly hot German babes in my repertoire. Both are sexy and fast as hell, and the silver one runs around topless most of the summer.
I think I will always be true to them...
But a playah gotta play. I got eyes, you know.
*apologies for the wordiness, thin metaphors, and ego-driven tripe, but is what one does after a few martinis mid-week with a holiday Thursdsay upcoming*