Mustang Sally

I recently sold my 1988 Ford Mustang GT Cobra convertible. It was given to me and I enjoyed it for two summers. It was the exact same car the Vanilla Ice rapped about and pimped put in his music videos.

I would never have purchased this vehicle on my own. It really wasn’t my style – although I’ll be the first to admit it was super fun to drive. As we get a bit of an Indian summer I cannot help but wish I still had it to cruise around in.

There is a undeniable mystique about Mustangs that Ford – and generations of Mustang enthusiasts – have created. It is the ultimate man’s vehicle. Its fast, powerful, aggressive, sexy and desirable amongst women and men. Men are jealous and women will drop their panties and inhibitions with the simplest roar of the engine. Garages are plastered with calendars and posters of scantily clad Barbie’s sprawled out along the hood, leaning their watermelon breasts over the engine, or polishing the nob of the chrome cobra in their daisy dukes. Who wouldn’t want one?

The reality of the average Mustang driver is the complete opposite. The average Mustang driver seems to be split evenly between the 50+ white males with short grey hair to disguise their ever receeding hairline and the 50+ female spinster who drives her 3 grizzled cougarettes down to the local bar to pounce on some poor unsuspecting waiter who feels the tingle of fear and the small dollop of puke rise up as he flirts with this 4 headed dragon in order to get a bit more generous tip. Mustangs are no longer the iconic vehicle of youth and Americana…unless Americana has morphed into baby boomers racing out of the Old Country Buffet in order to get the early screening of whatever Meryl Streep or Michael Douglas is limping their way through or at worst, getting their sexiest panties and their rhinestone collared shirts ready to flash at Neil Diamond during “Sweet Caroline” all the while saying,” They just don’t make entertainers like that anymore!”

I guess I should’ve been tipped off – the Mustang I had was a hand-me-down from my mom. It was her gift to herself in her 50th birthday.

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