When I bought my first British car (an MG TD) at age 20 I had this
vision of women flocking to me begging for rides. Of course this new
version of myself went as unnoticed as the old 1947 Crosley station
wagon owning version had. It just wasn't to be. We are what we are. A
typical scenario ran something like this:
I'm driving around town in the TD with a buddy.
buddy: Wow, did you see THAT?!!
me: Ya, neat looking T-Bird.
buddy: No mush brain, I meant the chick behind the wheel.
me: There was a woman in that car?
The closest I ever came was once while walking along the road toting a
2 gallon can after running out of gas. An attractive young lady stopped
and gave me a lift to a service station. The TD wasn't even in sight.
The young lady may have been interested but my mind was occupied with
trying to recall whether or not I had enough change I on me to buy two
gallons of gas. I figured it would have been uncool to count it in front of
her. At the time I was selling Kirby vacuum cleaners door-to-door and
things weren't going too well.
I did thank the young lady for the ride, though. And as I've matured I have
become far more sophisticated and hip.
Roland
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