An automobile, to my mind, is just another machine, nothing more. All I ask is that, if I turn the key, it starts.</p><p> I owned my first one in partnership with a college roommate. We went to the bank together, signed promissory notes for $25 apiece, and purchased for $50 an ancient Chevrolet without a reverse gear.</p><p> It was a quite satisfactory machine, provided one parked it on the corner. And it served us most of a year.</p><p> In that long-ago simpler day, we drove it untitled, uninsured, still wearing the license plate that came with the sale. The roommate took it on spring break, but it threw a rod midway home, so he left it on the road shoulder and hitchhiked on to St. Louis.</p><p> That one was followed, after military service, by a pea-green convertible &mdash; a &rsquo;52 or &rsquo;53 Mercury &mdash; that used four quarts of oil for every tank of gas. The radio worked wonderfully.</p><p> Next was a Simca 6 of unknown vintage, bought for $125 in an extended bilingual exchange of profanities with a used car merchant in Calais, France. It provided six months of transport through five European countries before it was resold for $75.</p><p> The automobile in which I courted my wife was a 1947 model &mdash; 18 years old at the time, but an absolute wonder.</p><p> Its owners, an elderly couple, had installed seat covers the day they bought it new. It had never spent a night outdoors, or been driven outside the city. The spare tire had never been out of the trunk.</p><p> It was, in short, in showroom condition, with only 12,000 miles on the odometer. I paid $250, no questions asked, and drove it six years, with no maintenance except occasional replacement of a tire.</p><p> In bitter winter weather, when fancier vehicles refused to start, I just pulled out the hand choke and was on my way instantly.</p><p> Our present automobiles are of a mixed sort. Mine is a 15-year-old SUV, eco-unfriendly but necessary for the hauling of hunting dogs and gear. My wife&rsquo;s is a newer and nicer midprice sedan.</p><p> As you may have deduced, I do not measure self-worth by what I drive. Mercifully, my life companion is of the same mind.</p><p> In traffic, we may be passed by a vehicle of a value somewhat greater than my annual income and, if it happens to be of a similar color as hers, she will say, &ldquo;Oh, there&rsquo;s a car like ours.&rdquo;</p><p> That takes the pressure off.</p><p> Lately, however, there&rsquo;s been an addition to our motley fleet, about which I feel at liberty to speak, now that the product has been discussed in the automotive section of our newspaper.</p><p> Three years ago, yearning again to spend time in a place we love, we rented an apartment for two months in the Passy neighborhood of Paris.</p><p> One of the joys for us is how little that city changes. This time, though, one change was immediately striking. It was the presence of a different sort of little car &mdash; the Smart ForTwo &mdash; that we saw in considerable numbers in Paris traffic.</p><p> Parking in much of that city is a trial. But the Smart, at just a little over 6 feet long, could squeeze into places that defeated regular vehicles. Plainly, it was thrifty on gas and, what&rsquo;s more, we were charmed by its style.</p><p> If Smarts ever came to the U.S., we vowed to have one. And when the opportunity presented itself in July of 2007, we put in our reservation. Because of a backlog of orders, we finally took delivery last October.</p><p> I&rsquo;m not in the car-selling business, so I won&rsquo;t trumpet its virtues. Details are available in print or on the Web. But I will relate one priceless little incident.</p><p> I was stopped in my Smart at a traffic light. The car in the lane next to mine honked. I looked over, and the driver &mdash; a strikingly pretty young lady, perhaps in her mid-20s &mdash; rolled down her window.</p><p> Naturally, I rolled down mine.</p><p><em> &ldquo;You,&rdquo;</em> she called across, <em>&ldquo;are on the cutting edge!&rdquo;</em></p><p> I ask you to look at the photo of the writer of this column. Then imagine, if you can, how long ago it must have been since anything like that happened.</p><p> My Smart ForTwo, the &ldquo;Passion&rdquo; model, has proved to be worth the money.