Troy and I lightly jogged across the parking lot, anxious to get into the car. It was freezing outside. We swung open the doors to his BMW which was already beginning to heat up, thanks to his automatic car starter and jumped inside. I instantly felt the relieving heat on my back and upper thighs through his leather seats.
“Mmm,” I murmured as I rubbed my hands together before sliding them beneath my bum for more heat. “Is there anything better than heated seats?”
“No, they’re the best,” Troy agreed, pressing back into his own seat. “They’re almost as good as a heated steering wheel.”
I blinked twice. “A heated what?”
“Steering wheel,” Troy grinned. “Check it out.”
He reached across the center console and pulled my left arm away from its heat. The steering wheel was warm! Whoa. I had no idea that was even a possible feature on a car. I had never heard of it.
“Silly rich boy,” I thought condescendingly, “nobody actually needs a heated steering wheel.”
The next morning it had snowed again. In minus 30 degrees, I brushed the snow off of my car while it heated up. The moisture penetrated through my flimsy gloves so quickly, they were almost frozen stiff. Shivering, I entered my car and rejoiced in the heat from the seat. I put my fingers on the wheel, and it was ice cold. I could barely wrap my fingers around it! How did I ever drive like this? Stupid regular steering wheel.
I spent my entire commute wishing I owned something that I didn’t even know existed less than 24 hours ago.