Requiem for a '91 Mustang

Aging is all about acceptance and adapting - easy when it just involves pesky little things like hearing loss and/or creaky joints and instalment peeing, these 'go with the territory'. you adapt and move on. But when it involves losing one's freedom and independence to the ravages of automotive aging, now that hurts. And if it's a Mustang, that hurts big-time.

Mine was like a part of me, like a comfortable old shoe (designer of course!) A racy old lady turning obediently over on the most frigid winter morning. Nimble and superbly maneuverable wherever I took her, a perfect example of the fun being in 'getting there'.

Sadly, rust had its way with her. To such an extent that local squirrels had set up housekeeping in the trunk with enough nuts to see them into their golden years through a convenient hole in the floor.

The time had come. My Mustang was no longer sustainable on my income, it was an indulgence that I could ill-afford. I was aging better than it was. On the way to the autowreckers, the clutch was breathing its last. Luckily the last stretch was downhill. $250. What an epitaph, what an ignominious ending for such a loyal friend.

Maybe I'll win The Big One on the 649, I'd better hurry or I'll miss my bus ......

Sob.