What does a girl have to do to get a date around here? Honestly, there are only so many options. Online dating is a no-man’s land of foot fetishists, cross dressers and whiners straddling the grey line between semi-retired and unemployed. Well-meaning friends offer to set you up, but inevitably, their cousin Bob is single for a good reason.
So – I got myself a 2014 lime green Mustang convertible, with a V6 premium package. Any smart girl knows that Mustangs are like catnip to guys. Even in lime green. And a convertible, well.
Technically, it wasn’t lime green. Ford calls it “Gotta Have It Green,” but my friend Cynthia knows better. “Is that UR fancy lime green car?,” she texted me, after spotting it in the garage. That’s why she’s my BFF.
And spotting it was pretty damn easy. Finally I could go to Sherway Gardens and not lose my car in the parking lot. Although I’m no shrinking violet, that car just shrieked “Look at ME!” It was almost overwhelming. I felt like I’d put on a blonde wig or something. That was it – I was in disguise!
Apparently 40 percent of convertible drivers like the attention they get, and I can see why. Driving up Jarvis Street, a comely young lad on a bicycle pulled up alongside me – on the driver’s side – and peeked in. I winked, and he pulled away with a sheepish grin. He was a little *too* green, even for me. But a couple of times, pedestrians deliberately crossed right in front of me, I swear, just to make me slam on the brakes. They smirked as I sat there, shooing them away. Cops definitely noticed me – I’m sure they expected less than ladylike behaviour, but I neatly disappointed them.
Heads turned wherever we cruised. At every stop sign and red light, I got glances, thumbs up, friendly waves and even a whistle or two. I didn’t even have to rev the Stang’s 305 hp 3.7 litre V6, which can go zero to 100 k in 6.0 seconds. And it was a 6-speed manual shift, making it even more cool.
Driving out to Barrie, I got to have some fun on the 400 – but not too much fun. After all, I was low-hanging fruit for the local constabulary. The Mustang snarled nicely for a pony, and the steering was crisp and precise. Although I didn’t have much use for the Sync telematics – we know not to use our cellphone in the car, under any circumstances – I did love the Shaker audio system, with satellite radio. And what did I find? A terrific R’n’B station, which I turned up when Shalamar came on, crooning about “The Second Time Around.”
In fact, it was so exhilarating, leaning back into the leather upholstery, wind messing up my hair, flying over the asphalt on those 18-inch wheels that come standard with the “Mustang Club of America” package, that I almost forgot about being single. Could it be the car’s eager response to every touch? The way those headlights watched me walk away after I parked … the pleasingly sensuous silhouette … and brash, aggressive stance. There was something muscular and masculine about the car, green as it was.
We had a fling, the ‘Stang and me. That convertible top slid back and forth so agreeably, and the rearview camera helped me back into so many tight spots. I didn’t even mind the heavy doors – no, they were just like strong arms, holding me safe and secure while I wound my way around town.
And I was kind of sad when I had to say good-bye. I walked away from that prancing pony, which was everywhere – on the grill, the steering wheel, the touchscreen, even projected onto the ground like some kind of fluorescent equine night light.
So long, pony car. We’ll always have … Barrie.