16 February 2007


I have a big HUGE soft spot for Mustangs. When I was a kid, about 10 years old, I started reading car magazines and collecting a big notebook full of pictures of my favorite cars. It was FULL of pictures of Mustangs. New mustangs (1984 at the time) and old. I loved them. My very first car was a 1966 Mustang. It was torquoise and it was my pride and joy. I saw it at an Antique Car Show that my dad and I went to when I was 15. I was totally in love with it as soon as I saw it. I sat in it. I took pictures of it. I talked to the owner about it. I was entralled with it. Wouldn't you be? This is what she looked like:

That Christmas (several months later), when I got a set of car keys in a box, I was totally blown away. I ran to the garage as fast as my legs would carry me and there, parked in the stall was that beautiful torquoise Mustang with a huge red bow wrapped around the hood. Needless to say, I screamed and screamed and jumped up and down and cried a little. I hopped right in and revved the engine and drove in cirles around my parents driveway (I didn't have my license yet, I was only 15). I took excellent care of that car. I waxed her and buffed her and windexed the windows. I cleaned the tires and the hubcaps and polished all the crome. She was truly my first baby and I adored her. I spent a lot of time at the classic car shop, ordering replacement parts and upgrading things. It was so much fun. Whenever I see a Mustang now, I think about my old car and someday, I hope to have another one again.

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