Sunday, July 12, 2009

Walburga in 1997 Mustang Convertible, 2004.

Seems like a longer than necessary title, but it's a kind of homage to my dearly departed convertible. The day after a horrible fight with a girlfriend, I slid on a slushy road on Cape Cod and wrapped my beloved Mustang around a telephone pole. After the woman unceremoniously dumped me a few weeks later, it was a huge relief, like waking from a truly bad dream. I don't miss her in the least, but I tear up every time I see a Mustang convertible. Now that I'm in California, it's especially painful, because I could go topless all year long. Sarah says if I had been driving my MCO (mid-life crisis object) when I met her, she probably would have ignored me. Sarah insists that our first California car not be a convertible. But, baby, I'm a rag top man!

I had more fun in that car than in - well, I had a lot of fun. Walburga and I used to drive around listening to the Beach Boys at top volume. 

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