Heading out to the highway

Call me fickle. The object of my desire was the most sexy, little two-seater car that I had EVER seen.

Now, I am not known for my interest in cars. I know nothing about them. But the moment I set on eyes on this one’s curvy, vintage shape I knew that I wanted it. I took a million pictures and gazed at them all night long.

I told all my friends about it. I told my dog about it. And the cats.

I even told my dad and step-dad, who can both be relied upon for dampening my spirits. I was not disappointed.

Dad: “It’s a ridiculous car. You need to be surrounded by thick metal with the amount of miles you clock up.”

Step-dad: “You need something with four seats Karen.”

The Farmer-Type: “When does it need an MoT? What size engine is it? What is the cost of the insurance? And tax? Are those wheels right for the size of the chassis?”

The Former LOML: “It has an engine the size of a Singer sewing machine.”

The Teen: “It’s all right. It looks better than the Getz. Can I have the Getz?” Bah.

I was so excited that I ignored ALL their advice and booked a test drive.

With HIGH hopes, I jumped in, turned on the engine and drove into the road. I so badly wanted to love it forever. But as it chugged to 50mph, I knew we had nothing in common. The love affair was over before it began. My heart broke there and then. I stopped my tears from falling onto the sexy red leather seats. Gutted.

Now, I am on a mission. I want a cute, sporty little number with LOTS of style.

I would like a 1950s or 1960s car, just so I can wear my spotty headscarf, red lipstick and use my cigarette holder. I do not want to end up with anything boring, but I do want to drive 50 miles each day without breaking down.

Mid-life crisis anyone?

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