The Fates had struck! Irreversibly, my life had shifted.

I had casually told Yanni “Let me think about it.”  Ha!

After driving the red Carrera, I spent all of Sunday awash in that delicious clean feeling of a precious new love.  A fresh Baptismal clarity of purpose spotlit center stage, fully revving my beleaguered cortical neurons into overdrive. Yeah. At my age, what counts for overdrive looks very different. But, whatever.

Hook, line, and sinker. Bewitched, bothered, bewildered. Coup de foudre!

Every cheesy stereotype you can think of applied. Pathetic, really. And shameful. Wouldn’t you agree? A 45 year old mature professional woman, with serious responsibilities and being an otherwise respectable community member (think board of trustees, annual fund dinners, task force, focus groups, international conferences, 15 years of being a faculty member, distinguished fellow, domestic violence workshops, and so on) was struck dumb. By a car.

That best-beloved man, my boyfriend/husband/BabyDaddy,

stoic, sweet, funny, and handsome Big T half-listened to my nonstop impassioned monologues about that test drive with monastic  patience. Of course, he saw it better than I did. A little girl who dreamed to drive on a track. Trapped in the lumpy corporeal state of a mediocre woman who has birthed three biological offspring.

You will understand how deeply I love him, when I tell you his next words. “If you wait until we retire, you’re never going to do it, honey.”

Early Monday morning, Yanni texted me. “I have another customer coming for a test drive today.” I began counting my pennies frantically. How could I make this happen?  “Please give me til Friday” I replied. Later that night, he messaged “We should talk tonight.” The guy had written a check on the spot.

And. Just like that. It was gone.

I did not cry. Because.

Langston Hughes’ words resonated with me in truth.

“Hold fast to dreams.

For when dreams go,

Life is a barren field

Frozen with snow.”

Guess what? I don’t even LIKE red cars. So, on Tuesday, I called my retirement plan brokerage firm. Next, I made a little visit to my safety deposit box. I wanted a white 911.