(CBS) My car is 12 years old. That's not that old. Okay, in dog years, it's 84, but my dog doesn't drive the car. I've been getting a lot of pressure from family and friends to get a new one.

They're probably right. More and more expensive things are starting to go wrong with it. So, every once in a while, I test drive a few cars and seriously think about buying one. But whenever I feel myself getting really tempted to get a new car, I get my old one washed instead. It looks shiny, and I forget about a new car for a while.

I hate the process of buying a car. They let you drive around the block while the salesperson is jabbering away about emissions and service packages, and then you're supposed to decide if you want to buy something that costs twice as much as the house you grew up in. I don't want to hear about the alleged gas mileage, which parts of the engine are made of aluminum, or that the interior colors are called, "shale, taupe, and biscuit." And I certainly don't want to hear, "I'll have to talk to my manager about this."

(CBS) When we went on a trip last week, my wife surprised me by booking us into a Bed and Breakfast, rather than an ordinary hotel. The owners were a friendly family, the room was tastefully decorated, and the grounds were picturesque. We had real maple syrup with our French toast at breakfast. In other words, I hated the place and couldn't wait to leave. 

I know it's not hip or "in" to say this — and you can call me an uncultured boor with no taste or class — but I would rather stay in a cookie-cutter, charmless chain hotel than in an "adorable" B&B. 

I've never understood their appeal. Why would I want to stay at some stranger's house so I could have the privilege of eating breakfast with other strangers? I like to meet people, but I like to meet them when I'm standing up, not at the breakfast table.