I might have lost my mind, the jury is still out on that one. I decided I wanted to buy a sports car, and with the wife’s approval, started looking for a new toy.
I had it all worked out in my mind; British; hand-built; small; and terrifingly fast. Perhaps an old Lotus 7, or an Austin Healey. Heck, I was even willing to consider something as large as a Sunbeam, as long as it looked good and turned heads, I wasn’t going to be too picky.
Even the wife got into it, searching Ebay and Craigslist, waiting for a good deal on a solid car for weekending and car shows. In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have let her help me, because odds are that without her help I’d be driving a Lotus Europa right now instead of a (comparatively) huge V-8 Ford Mustang.
My wife likes finding cars that she knows I’ll hate. She enjoys seeing me turn queasy over the latest classifieds advertising someone elses backyard mistake. I know better than to try and shove a 350 small block in a Spitfire 1500, or put a rattle-can paintjob on a ’69 Z-28 Camaro, but apparently this isn’t common knowledge (I also don’t care that your “rare” MGB was ordered in chocolate brown and still has the original paint. It still looks like poop). Searching for cars online is a lesson in patience, and I’m lucky some of these advertisers can’t hear what I’m thinking.
Lo and Behold, my wife pipes up one night and says “hey, this guy says he has a factory pink ’65 Mustang Convertible for sale”. “That’s nice, but pink wasn’t a factory color in 1965, he must be wrong”, I say, thinking that’s the end of the conversation. “It’s in nice shape”, she says, “and he’s only asking $11,500, you should look at this.”.
It’s obvious I’m not going to get out of this, and if looking at a photo online makes her happy, so be it. Hell, I’m curious to see what an antique pink Mustang looks like, anyways. Little did I know that I was about to kiss my little imaginary Lotus goodbye.