I’m a big fan of lemons. I don’t mean that I cut them open and suck on them like a crazy person. I acknowledge that they are sour and, on their own, pretty gross. But I do use lemons quite a bit when I cook, to cut that fishy flavor this corn-fed Midwestern gal doesn’t always appreciate, or to add a bit of acidic zing when the mood strikes and I want to feel a little fancy and channel my inner Food Network star.

Last year for Christmas my husband even got me a couple of small lemon trees in pots to grow in a sunny spot off to the side of my kitchen. Over the summer, the trees enjoyed the hot soupy atmosphere of our Missouri back deck (as did I), and now that it’s turned cold again they have settled back indoors, leafier and prettier, and probably no closer to actually producing fruit.

That’s okay. They’ll get there. Or they won’t. I’ll have fun trying anyway, and in the meantime, I can always buy a nice California lemon at the grocery store. I pick them out carefully. I like my lemons on the larger side, heavy for their size with a slight give when gently squeezed and with a nice fragrance.

I’m good at picking out lemons. Both at the grocery store and, unfortunately, at the car lot. I posted once before about our 2020 Subaru Outback, not long after it left us stranded on the side of the interstate while on family vacation with about twenty thousand miles on the odometer and a transmission that had catastrophically failed, leaving us down a vehicle for more than a month. I wish I could say that after the transmission issues the car hasn’t given us any more problems. Alas, it’s been something of a lemon. And not the kind that makes fish taste better.

It’s been a lemon more in that way that a mid-nineteenth century guy might have referred to a tart or undesirable woman. Or like the way a person in the early part of the twentieth century might refer to getting a rotten deal. Or an awful lot like when, according to Mental Floss, a used car dealer was said in the Oakland Tribune in 1923 to be pleased that he’d finally gotten rid of a lemon.

To be fair, the salesman who sold us our Outback probably did not knowingly sell us a lemon. It was brand new at the time, and Subarus have a reputation of being solid, reliable cars that hold onto their value. I mean their ads tend to feature good looking adventurous people driving into rugged landscapes with their good looking adventurous dogs, tails wagging and tongues and ears flapping happily out the rolled down windows. “Love,” they say, “Is what makes a Subaru a Subaru.”

They certainly don’t label their vehicles as lemons, like Volkswagen decided to do in 1960. The printed ad displayed the image of a new, seemingly perfect (though vaguely ridiculous as the VW Beetle has always been), car labeled: “Lemon.” The ad copy went on to explain that an imperfection in the chrome strip on the glove compartment that wouldn’t likely have been noticed by the consumer, had caught the attention of one of the 3,389 quality inspectors, and that the car had been deemed unfit to sell until the problem could be corrected.

The conclusion of course, is that a company with this level of attention to detail could be trusted to produce a car that will not only hold its value, but will also probably not result in a mandatory programming recall, a not-yet-covered-by-recall $1400 repair to its engine, a class action lawsuit regarding a parasitic battery problem the company has yet to find a solution to, an inexplicable break down at the intersection four blocks from home the day before Thanksgiving, and a family stranded on the side of the interstate when they should be on their way to the lake.

Despite being the project car of Adolf Hitler, Volkswagen and its Beetle enjoyed a good reputation among American consumers for a long time following the lemon ad campaign, though feelings toward the company have maybe soured a little since it got caught cheating on its emissions testing a few years back.

Subaru also has inspired a lot of consumer loyalty with its reputation for quality and service. I know that because every time I mention how frustrated I am with this car, I am flooded with comments from other Subaru drivers who absolutely love their cars. Even the tow truck driver on the day before Thanksgiving when mechanic shops are preparing to close down for the long weekend, told me how much he loves Subarus as he loaded my incapacitated car onto the back of his truck and a police officer directed traffic around us.

And I get it. Sort of. We owned a previous Subaru Outback and it was a great car. We had lots of adventures in it with our good looking dog whose ears and tongue flapped happily out the rolled down window. Well, before he got carsick anyway. He’s not a great traveler.

But this year for Christmas (and for many Christmases and birthdays and anniversaries to come I suspect), instead of lemons, which I’m almost confident my trees will one day produce, we have traded in our 2020 Subaru Outback and purchased a Honda CR-V. The car has a great reputation, and I’m feeling hopeful that this Christmas, I’m not getting a lemon.