I can remember the first time I clapped eyes on her. She was at the dealership, dressed in black with gold adornments, waiting to be picked up. I was there with my parents taking delivery of our new car. I was in love! We drove her home that evening, my Dad losing it for at least ten minutes, stomping on the floorboards, looking for the dimmer switch. After burning out the retinas to oncoming traffic, he finally discovered the switch was on the column. The car was always stored inside and driven very sporatically. I think I drove it more than anyone. I had a 1969 Camaro, but it wasn't as much fun to drive. Over the years the old girl sat, bidding her time, sleeping away in the garage. About 4 years ago I told my parents that I wanted to buy the car and keep it in the family. I have her now and with the exception of replacing dried out rubber and gaskets, cleaning her up with a cut and polish, and replacing the exhaust and rotted off tires, she is all original. I just turned 25,100 kms on her today. I loved her 41 years ago, and I hope to love her for the forseeable.
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