I AM now a proud daddy. Or, at least as close to the real deal as I can foreseeably get in the next five to 10 years.

The sweet baby is my Mazda 2 - a spanking new, gleaming red hatchback that came into my world on March 11.

It probably won't come anywhere close to having a real baby, but I've been treating it like my offspring. After all, splashing out $56,000 on one item now does feel a little bit like going into labour.

Already, I have been uncontrollably indulging in little daddy habits.

Any dust that settles on my poor child is swiftly wiped off - with my hand, my handkerchief or even my shirt.

Occasionally, when I brake too hard or rev its engine too strongly, I quietly "sayang" the steering wheel.

Then there's the dead giveaway of the car daddy: I sometimes stop a few steps away from the car, admire it for a couple of seconds and smile to myself.

I know that makes me sound more like an idiot than a father, but it's true. I don't think I have treated any inanimate object like this before.

But, as with any newborn that joins the family, there are always some kaypoh (nosy) uncles and aunties - my friends, in this case - who can't wait to dish out advice on how to take care of it.

Some are helpful, giving me good tips on taking care of the engine or keeping the car fuel efficient.

The rest of their advice - like most pointers given by kaypoh uncles and aunties - I can do without.

For starters, many of them take this baby thing too seriously. Two of my female friends told me I should name my car. "You could call her Xiao Hong (Mandarin for Little Red)," one of them said.

After I stopped myself from gagging, I replied that unless it comes running into my arms when I call its name, there is going to be no Xiao Hong, Xiao Hei or Xiao Whatever in my life.

Then there are those who insist on accessorising my car.

When you buy baby clothes for a newborn, it's cute. When you want to do the same for a car, however, it's just ugly.

This always starts because they enter my car and see, well, nothing.

"How come your car so empty one, ah?" they ask, as if the dashboard, the seats and the sound system are invisible.

This is followed by questions such as "Why you never hang anything on your rear-view mirror?" or "Why is there nothing on your dashboard?".

Then come unwelcome suggestions: "Why don't you hang something there?" or "Why don't you have any soft toys?"

"Why don't you get out of my car?" is what I'm usually tempted to say at this point.

For these people, a car isn't complete without the extra knick-knacks, such as racing stickers or lame "If you can read this, you are following too close" decals.

"Without these things, it looks like a baby without clothes - naked," one friend told me.

Well, I happen to think babies look fabulous when they are naked.

Adding these accessories to a car causes two problems: It adds unnecessary clutter and the car becomes either too masculine or feminine.

For example, my brother's Mitsubishi Colt has been totally "girlified".

Stepping into it is like stepping into Toys 'R' Us - there are stuffed toys, cushions and pretty little accessories littered all over the seats and the dashboard, thanks to my sister-in-law.

I'm not saying the stuff isn't cute. I'm actually rather fond of the pillow with two fluffy dog figurines and a button that activates Sonny and Cher's I Got You Babe. (The male dog bobs its head along to Sonny's lines and the female does the same to Cher's lines.)

Adorable. But no respectable man will be caught dead with that in his vehicle. (Sorry, bro.)

Similarly, the guys insist that I need to "mannify" my car.

"The very least you should do is to paste a few Initial D stickers on your windows," one of them said.

Other fellows want me to - horror of horrors - go the whole nine yards and "zhng" it, as if I'm some Ah Beng wannabe.

For the uninitiated, "zhng" is slang for modifying the car at the workshop so that it turns into a spaceship. That's right - spaceship.

What else do you call a car that has:

a sound system so loud you can probably hear it in outer space;

an exhaust pipe so big it looks like it can propel the car into orbit;

strobe lights so bright they might as well be on a UFO?

Whenever I hear one of these noisy, souped-up cars zoom by the road outside my flat at 2am and break the silence of the night, I close my eyes and softly chant under my breath: "Explode. Explode. Explode."

How can I turn my car into one of these "zhnged" monsters when I can't stand the sight of them?

So thanks for the advice everyone, but no thanks.

Like I said, I think babies look their best in their natural form - the way they did when they just entered this world.

My car allows me to stop for a quick late-night teh tarik at Adam Road hawker centre every other day, gets me out of tight jams when I am running late and allows me to sleep in for another 20 minutes a day.

That is good enough for me. For that, it will always remain my sweet baby Mazda 2.

Make that my sweet, nameless, gender-neutral baby Mazda 2.

This article was first published in The Straits Times on Apr 28, 2008.