We’ve been sitting in the office today talking about roads and cars and driving, and it hit me — we need to talk about our favorite cars.

Because we all, or almost all, have one, even if we’ve never owned it.

My all-time favorite car isn’t one that’s made anymore, it’s a Mercedes 350SL convertible. A college friend had one that I absolutely loved, and she was kind, or foolish, enough to let me drive it from time to time. It hugged the road beautifully, handled like a dream, and was way out of my price range.

Over the years, I have seen them, both restored and, sadly, falling apart, and my heart still beats a little faster. That short nose, sleek build and what I know it’s capable of are all still exhilarating.

My very first car was not fancy or exciting or new, but I loved it. It was almost as old as me. I was born in 1964, and that car was born in 1968. She was a “desert beige” Buick Skylark, with bucket seats up front and black interior. Her steering wheel was big and the gears were still on the column and I loved her. She was heavy metal at a time when zippy little fiberglass cars were becoming the rage, and I was in heaven. She was heavy where they were light, but she would move. And the one time I was rear-ended by a tractor trailer at the end of a highway exit, all she got was a dent in the fender and all I got was a mild headache. She protected me and that protected my parents from worry. She had manual windows and locks, a floor button for high beam headlights, and a push-button AM/FM radio (that was the upgraded model).

My second car, that I loved every bit as much, was a brand new 1986 slate blue Honda Prelude with a sunroof and spoiler on the back. It was a graduation present from my parents and me, to me, when I got my degree from Wake Forest, and I just about broke my face smiling the day it arrived.

I had taught myself how to drive a standard years before, screeching through several traffic lights on country roads and rolling down a few hills before I got the hang of the balance between clutch and gas, but once I got it, I never looked back. I craved the control of manual transmission. And that Prelude and I traveled to and through Connecticut together, through jobs and a first marriage and the birth of two children, before she was finally put to pasture in exchange for a four-door Honda Accord.

As a mom, I went through quite a few years of cars that were meant for families with our six kids, and not intended to make hearts race, win races or handle curves. They were designed to carry kids and gear to soccer games, musical performances, wrestling matches, baseball and lacrosse games and on camping trips. And that was just fine, because the budget was focused on other things.

But.

Once we reached a point where I could have my choice again, I didn’t end up with that Mercedes, but I did end up with the car I’d wanted from the day my dad first showed me an Army surplus Jeep.

I thought it was the coolest, toughest, most rugged machine I’d ever seen, and I wanted one. No surplus Jeeps were available, but a Wrangler was, and the minute I stepped on the running board, hauled myself in and buckled up, I was hooked.

I’ve had four Wranglers over the years, with one Renegade thrown in the mix, and I know it is the car that matches who I am. She can go anywhere, get in and out of anything, is steady and strong and in the warm months, she and I let the wind blow through by taking windows out, putting the soft top down and even at times taking the doors off. She’s top heavy, so I can’t throw her around corners, and she won’t win a drag race (though she can move when I need her to). But every Jeep I’ve had has had a name, and a personality and I have adored them.

Lexi, my current pal, is sitting out in the parking lot here at the Post right now and I know she’s waiting for me to hop in for our next ride, wherever that may be. The Jeep Wrangler matches my curious, adventurous spirit and happy nature, and I know, after all these years, that it’s the car meant for me.

The hubs drives a Mini Cooper S, the car of his dreams, and it’s very different than my Jeep, but it suits his personality to a T. He zooms around, at times maneuvering like Steve McQueen on the racetrack and at others tackling terrain like he’s in the movie “The Italian Job.” Always grinning. After driving a police cruiser for so many years, I know he loves his Mini.

I likely will never have one of those 350SLs in my garage, but my Wrangler is in truth the car of my heart. To open her up, turn up some favorite music and let the stress of the day blow off my shoulders with the wind is a gift that I don’t take for granted.

How about you? What car makes your heart flutter? Maybe for you it’s actually a motorcycle or even a bicycle, that’s just as good. It’s lovely to dream about driving a vehicle that sings to us, even if it never comes to fruition. We all need to rev our dream engine once in a while.

Elisabeth Strillacci covers crime, courts, Spencer, East Spencer and Kannapolis for the Salisbury Post.