Cars don't interest me. I wouldn't care if the neighbor on one side had a Lamborghini and the neighbor on the other had a Cadillac Escalade and I had a Pinto. I just don't think about cars. I never have. I like them to run.
But. There were two instances in my life when I thought about cars:
There was a guy who used to come into the Pan American Diner where I was a hostess on the breakfast shift. He was some sort of scruffy construction worker with a ZZ Top beard and he was friendly to me and kinda cute. He usually drove a truck from his work, but sometimes he'd pull into the parking lot in his chocolate brown Stingray. It was very pretty, I did notice. One thing led to another and we were going on a date. As I ran around the house getting ready, I yelled to my mom downstairs to watch for a chocolate brown Stingray and let me know when my date arrives. Several minutes later I heard, Well, there's no Stingray, but I think he's here...in a truck. Sure enough, he picked me up in an old truck. The Stingray was in the shop. Never did get a ride in the Stingray, just in his old beat up construction truck.
Okay, fine. Whatever. I never really liked cars anyway....I just...thought that one was....kind of pretty. Moving on.
There was a car that was built in the late 70's that, when I'd see it, I specifically remember saying to myself, That is an ugly car. I'm not much for cars, but I must say, that is an ugly car. It was a Mustang II Ghia. It just always struck me as dumpy and ugly.
In the late 80's I needed a car. My father often bought his cars from a friend of his who'd buy new cars, drive them for a while and then sell them pretty cheap. One day Dad came home and told me that Bobby was selling his car for $900 and he thought it'd make a good first car for me. Oh cool, I thought. I don't have to go through the hassle of shopping around for a used car, wondering if it's a lemon. I can just buy Bobby's car.
"Cool, Dad. What kind is it?"
"Mustang II Ghia."
Oh and...it's putrid-vomit-yellow.
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