Why I love my car

Recently I put on a pair of shoes that had been in the trunk of my 400iA. They hadn't been in there for more than a few hours and yet, months later they had that smell which I will call Eau De Maranello. You know, gasoline vapors, old leather and partially ignited exhaust fumes. The first time my wife rode in the car she asked if it was always going to smell so strongly of leather- I told that it would probably fade as the thing is only 38 years old right now. A friend of mine recently took a cross continent trip in his 330GTC and at the end of it was convinced that there must be a gas leak somewhere in the fuel system because his and his wife's clothes both smelled like gasoline. I asked him if he was getting less than 7.5 M.P.G. which is sort of like asking Donald Trump how many Mexican rapists have come over the border in the last year- no clue. Anyway, every time I walk past a shoe repair store or a gas station or am jogging across the Queensborough (sorry, Ed Koch) Bridge I am reminded of my car. Which, by the way, has a much better quality of life than me as she gets to live full time on the East End of Long Island.

 

OMG I'll start tomorrow