The babe-mobile is back!
Of all the rites of spring, from the icicles weeping at the final departure of winter, to the season opening ball games, for my money nothing can trigger the endorphins of a middle-ager the way driving a sports-car or motorcycle can, along a dry road in the first warm sunshine of spring. My “babe-mobile” (as my oldest step-daughter dubbed it at first sight) came out of winter storage this week and ooooh baby, does she ever look and feel good!
It was the summer before last that I succumbed to the mid-life pull to put at least one more sporty-like car under my seat, before maybe beginning to consider the possibility of giving into practicality and maturity. It’s not exactly a Porsche, but a very snappy looking pearl white, five-speed Mitsubishi that’s way too low for the snow, but high enough to clear any railway track on the back roads of my regular path to and from Georgian Bay. Her name is “Mitsy”– she’s smooth and sleek, with some great curves in the right spots.
The first day I brought her home, my very attractive 24-year-old step-daughter dropped her jaw and screamed “it’s a sex machine!,” “a babe-mobile!” — so I coaxed her into the front seat to see how many heads we could turn driving down Yonge Street, with the sunroof open, the windows down and the tunes cranked a little louder than usual. Yes, the heads were turning big time, but I’m not sure if they were looking at her, the car, or the sight of a 50-something alongside a babe who was 30 years younger. Doesn’t matter. It was fun, felt great, was trouble-free and scratched the itch of winter, not to mention mid-life! (just kidding sweetie).
The only other “babes” who have been in the front seat since (apart from my gorgeous mate Marlane), are our two dogs, Tia and Moe, who dig the leather seats, the tunes, the sunroof and who know how to pose for the heads they turn at traffic lights. In the meantime, this older dog is diggin’ it all, especially this weekend’s first coat-free, window down, tune crankin’, run up the ribbon of back roads to Georgian Bay, to the tune of Mack the Knife. Look out, ole Mitsy’s back!