This may be my least coherent post yet. I have one cup of coffee down (and it hasn’t kicked in yet), another cup and breakfast yet to go. I have to leave for work in half an hour, and my eyes don’t want to be open yet. Pleh.
Anyhoo, I popped by Crazy Aunt Purl’s this morning, and she had a picture of a pink Ford Mustang she’d seen on her commute. (You have to scroll down to see it.) I have two neighbors on my block who drive school bus yellow Mustangs. Now, y’all have to understand, I was raised in a Chevy family, and yes, I am disgusted with what they’ve been up to lately. Still, when someone talks about buying a Ford, my reaction is still, uh, a little visceral. I say ‘Ford’ like I say ‘liver’ or ‘spider’–with a little shiver or a tone of disdain, depending on the day. (I know dyed-in-the-wool Ford folks who say ‘Chevy’ the same way. It’s all good.) The Mustang convertible is the only Ford I would consider owning right now, and only if it was a deal good enough to pay cash. But in school bus yellow or pepto pink? No.
I’ve told Eric on a number of occasions that when we can afford to buy the car I want instead of what we can afford, I don’t know what it will be, but it won’t be white, orange or yellow. Now I can add pink. Or maybe I should just say it won’t be white or Day-glo.
Off for a refill and breakfast…