I always saw these little cars on the road in all different colors. Some dark green, others red or dark blue. I didn't know what they were, all I knew was that I almost got whiplash every time I saw one. I started yearning to drive a stick again. I wanted to feel the wind whipping my hair around as I hugged the crooked roads of the New Jersey countryside on a summery night.
As I apporoached my, ahem, 40th birthday, I asked my husband to forgo a big party or vacation. I wanted one of those little MGs. I started dreaming about the not-yet MG. I had hoped against hope for RED. My favourite (a tip of the hat to the Brits) color.
The night before my birthday, we all went out to a local restaurant to celebrate. I was excited to get some yummy oysters and a nice glass of wine. We had a great dinner. I was savouring my last night as a 39-year-old.
After dinner we walked out to get the car and my husband handed me a card with a poem that at the very end asked me to turn around and meet my new "buddy". I turned around to see the most beautiful little white MGB with racing stripes down the side! I fell in love immediately. He handed me the key and I all but forgot to hug him and give him the biggest kiss.
I got in and started it (yes, it did start!) and off I went. I hadn't driven a stick in 20 years and it came right back. I looked out the rearview mirror and as my husband and kids grew smaller in the reflection I blinked away the joyful tears that clouded my view.
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