Mustang Donna

Never buy anything large from a friend. Don’t buy a house, a boat, a laptop, a car or anything more complicated than a box fan from a pal.

Why?

Well, man-o-man, those suckers break and, if they can be fixed, those repairs, at the very least, are gonna cost you a fair chunk of change. This inevitably leads to awkward moments and, for those of us of the Jewish/Catholic persuasion, GUILT.

Example, my buddy Stan sold me his 20 year old Mustang. He’d bought it new in 1980 (NOT the slickest year for Mustang by any stretch but still...a Mustang) and took mega meticulous care of it. He was pained to let it go but had just started a family -- time for him to do the mini van thing.

Stan sold his baby to me for $100. At 42 and now living in Cambridge, not rabidly congested Allston/Brighton, this was my very first car.

I absolutely LOVED it. Despite being a stylistically off year for Mustangs it was zippy and way fun to drive. With our new glorious freedom, no longer needing to rent a car for a weekend getaway, The Amazing Bob and I took off for a wee holiday in Portland, Maine. Portland’s a small, sweet, seaside city with a fab art museum, loads of excellent fine art and craft galleries, independent bookstores galore and more than a few primo restaurants.

It’s the sort of town I’d always thought of retiring to before we found Valhalla by the Sea.

It was a hotter than hades few days and my brandy new, beloved, used stallion didn't have AC. Post weekend, as we were sweatily heading home -- rounding a corner to get onto the highway -- the Mustang stopped. It just flat out quit without warning. I was able to pull over and a kind passerby called a local garage to tow us.

Ultimately, we were towed the 120 miles from Portland to a recommended mechanic in Somerville, MA (near home) who pronounced our poor nag dead as doorknobs.

I’d had the car all of two months. Stan felt awful. I was peeved but more with myself -- taking that poor ancient beast on such a relatively long road trip was not one of my brighter ideas.

We got over it.

Since then I’ve had an equally prehistoric, decrepit Volkswagen Golf (which lasted 18 months longer than my poor Mustang), an elderly yet spry Volvo Wagon (lasting, amazingly, 10 years - the odometer had reset to zero shortly after I bought it) and my beloved Horace, the Silver Beetle. Though Horace, at 15, is by far the youngest of all the cars I’ve owned, he’s just not a healthy boy. A friend told me ‘Bugs are good until you hit 60,000 miles and then everything starts to go wrong...fast.’ Sadly he was too right.

I’m sick to death of infirm, primordial, worn out vehicles where something is always breaking or, at least, out of sorts. I’ve enough of that with my body and our house, for Bast’s sake! I want a reliable car. Dammit!

Toward that end, Jen and I went to the Smart Car dealership in Somerville yesterday and took one of those gorgeous little babies for a test drive. Yes. I am now in love. Totally! I ran the numbers last night and, with a big deposit and a very long loan plan, we can afford a new Smart Car.

Wow. I’ve never owned a car under the age of 12 before. I’ve never owned a car where a scratch or dent would even be noticeable. I've never owned a NEW car! This is going to take some getting used to.


This is what my new car looks like. SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Yes, I could have taken pics at the dealership yesterday. I even brought my camera with me so I could do just that. Why didn’t I? Phbbt -- you try concentrating when you’re 90,000 kinds of excited AND wigged out about spending money (I hate parting with large dough!).

I found this cool web page while toodling around on line this morning. Check this out -- if Smart Cars had the stylings of a Porsche, Ferrari, or Lamborghini what would they look like?
Mustang Sally -- Wilson Pickett