We bought a baby grand piano this weekend.
(If required, the top of the piano can be lowered so that hand signals are visible from the driver's bench. Always check both ways before pulling your piano out into traffic.)
The one similarity between my first car and my new piano is that they were both paid for on an Amex card. The piano people were a bit at a loss for a minute when Bob pulled the card out - I think they're used to people financing the things, or something. Fortunately, they took it (neither Bob nor I had brought our checkbooks). I am now the proud owner of a very expensive piece of paper, and in a week, I will have my very own baby grand digitally-impelled entertainment system delivered to the farm.
I've been wanting a piano for a very long time - the sitting room was designed to accomodate a piano - and this piano is a beaut, with Steinway building methods (it's a custom store brand - when you buy a piano with "Steinway" on the lid, you're paying another 10K for that pretty gold-leafed stencil, and this piano is niiiiiiiiiiiiice to play, which is all that matters) and a key action like butter. It's got a very full sound for a baby g, as well.
A synthesizer keyboard is just not the same.
I've played piano all my life - not brilliantly, mind you - and it was my first instrument (other than my voice). It's still my favourite, and I've missed playing on a real one terribly. I was lucky enough to be able to practice on a Bechstein grand when I was in college, and though I learned on a very old (19th century) upright that was never quite in tune, I used to pretend I was a concert pianist playing to admiring audiences. I even entertained the idea (for a short while) that I could be a professional pianist. Alas, short fingers and a fear of a new piano teacher (after my old one emigrated to New Zealand) cut short my ambitions, and I, like every single girl in my class who had seen Cats, suddenly wanted to be a dancer instead.
In my case, a short, pudgy, dancer. You can see how I ended up an artist. No height requirement, no finger-length requirement, and starving in a garret because you refuse to sell out and make your work commercially viable is excellent for that pudge problem.
(I had to go with a commercial weight-loss program because I am a complete whore and will sell out in a second.)
However, I never lost my love for the piano, and I finally have one again after twenty years of electronic keyboards and playing on other people's pianos. Satin ebony finish, matching bench, and a top big enough to lie on while singing torch songs.