A SIGN OF REVERTING TO YOUNGER THAN MIDDLE-AGE

Several months ago, I caught the Ford Fiesta bug while watching American Idol.  For the entire winter, I would design mine in my mind.  Having owned a Ford Focus since 2000, I have grown very content with my green Myrtle, and I do have to admit that every time I would go park her in the dealership's lot while I ooohhhed and ahhhed over all the bright, shiny new Foci, I would glance over at Myrtle and see the expression of sadness on her face and get in and promise her I was just dreaming.  I love my car, but every now and then, I begin thinking how much I would love driving a brand new one again.  The Fiesta has been advertised widely for two years now, a tease, really, and I thought maybe they were just not really building that car but pretending to, until today I received an e-mail from the salesman at my local Ford dealership:  "Kathy, I just received my first 2011 Fiesta on the lot and thought you might like to come out and test drive." 

I swear that Myrtle already knows.  I know she knows.  She probably does not know I am scheming a way to keep her in the family, but she definitely knows that the butt she has gotten used to cradling for the past 76,000 miles is about to be replaced.  She is probably safe, though, for at least another couple of months because if I decide to revert back to my teenage days, then I want the car built to my specs with all the bells and whistles I find totally necessary:  A moon roof, Sirius satellite radio, and cloth seats, as well as a built-in GPS.  On-Star will do, thank you.  

So tonight I am going to sneak to the Ford place by having someone else take me. I cannot stand to watch Myrtle panic when she sees the joyous expression on my face as I climb into the driver's seat of the newborn, still unnamed.  


I keep saying, "It's just a car, it's just a car..."