Quite possibly, I am the possessor of some genetic anomaly that when combined with certain factors leads to the unexpected side effect of car accidents. Can you relate? If so, perhaps we are related on the wrong side (well, less safe side) of the human genome? Let me explain.
The Ford Fiesta is the car in which I “legally” learned to drive circa 1985.
Boy was that a fun little car to drive. Of course, being driven on the Oregon coast as long as she was, we typically called her the “Rust Bucket” or some other not-so nice names.
I don’t know about the rest of you moms and dads out there, but I never thought I’d covet other people’s vehicles so much. Really, it used to be that what I drove only had to get good gas mileage and have ABS brakes. An AM/FM radio was a plus, but I could make up for such deficiencies by just singing along with the voices in my head. All that changed when I found I was pregnant with our third child. Suddenly, getting three car seats far enough apart from one another became cause enough to give up my slightly cooler vehicle for what I like to think of as the “Stretch-Mark-Mobile.”