When Paden and I started looking for a more fuel efficient vehicle (not to mention one I can see out of), a Mustang was the last one either of our minds. To me a Mustang meant luxury, it meant Hawaiian warmth in the dead of winter, it meant windy roads by crashing shorelines, it meant driving with the top down and letting wind mess up your hair. These are not typical attributes of my daily life. Or so I thought.
When we spontaneously decided to take a trip down to Wichita and visit the Morgan family while looking at a few cars, a Mustang was definitely not on the list. There was a some Japanese car starting with Mitsu at the top of the list. From what we saw on Craigslist, it looked like a steal of deal. Apparently it was, because it sold before we hit the road. There was also an adorable little white Volkswagen convertible that, according to Jeremy Morgan, would have threatened Paden's manliness. Oh, and there was this sweet Suzuki Sidekick. It was electric blue and looked like a ton of fun to drive. Then there was a 1990 Honda Civic at a mechanic shop that somebody never picked up. The only one we actually looked at was the Honda civic. But no air blew out of the vents and the passenger side door didn't close all the way. Seeing as we were not in a hurry to buy a car, we let that one go.
Back at the Morgan's, while Linda prepared some delicious tacos for lunch, Paden called about a few other cars. It is amazing how many people won't answer their phones. Finally, we got a callback and it was for the Mustang. His first reaction was to comment on how hideous the car was. But the price was rather attractive.
The man selling the white 1990 4Cyl Mustang clearly had an eye for beautiful cars. I didn't know a car could be so beautiful till I saw the Corvette in his garage among other fancy looking cars. Nestled among these beauties was our Mustang. It was love at first sight for me. It was clean, inside and out - even under the hood. Maybe it's not the sporty red, convertible Mustangs we counted in Hawaii, but maybe it is the name that counts after all.
I never believed I would actually drive a Mustang; perhaps this just goes to prove: be careful what you wish for. You just might get it.