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German Warfare
Within a few months time of the arrival of the yellow Porsche, I decided I needed something different to drive. It was totally unacceptable for DH to drive something with more panache than I, even if his was 7 or 8 years older. What's a gal to do? I headed for the Mercedes dealership, spotted a cute little 450SL that had a couple of thousand dealer miles already on it, loved the comfortable luxury ride and traded in my Porsche 914 without hesitation. I gleefully drove it home to the apartment and parked it next to DH's little insignificant German car which was once again, second fiddle to my even better German car.
Ahh, the beautiful wheels! I loved that car. DBF, soon to be DH, actually liked my 450SL a lot and wasn't at all jealous. You would think the story ends here in the late spring of 1973 but it doesn't. I'll fill you in next week sometime. This is what happens when you have a car-crazy woman and a soon to be husband who is compulsively car competitive.
Disclaimer: I am not saying that all Mercedes are better than all Porsches. I am just saying that my 450SL was a lot better than DH's old 912. Bwahahaahaa.
1 comment:
Well, it finally happened. I couldn't deny it any longer. I fought it off valiantly but still lost the battle. Not a day went by but I had to see what my good friend Flaurella was up to, or cooking. Fascinating. Interesting. Scintillating. Titillating. The Fix. Had to have it. So. Yes, I was DRIVEN to add Flaurella to my tool bar, the ultimate equivalent of speed dialing.
annie p
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