My wife looked at me as if I had said I'd boiled our three children and was now adding carrots. One sports car is all I get, she said. Sullen, I put the ' 61 Vette up for sale. Every guy who called about it said the same thing: "I've been looking for a '61 ever since the day I sold mine!"
"When was that?" I'd say.
"Twenty-two years ago."
She sold on eBay in eight days, and the next thing I knew a huge flatbed truck was idling in front of my house. I had to bundle her up as if I were sending a child away. I had to fasten on the hard top, which I'd never used. "She doesn't like to wear this," I protested to the truck driver as he pulled away, window closed.
It felt like somebody had stored my chest in dry ice. I went back into the garage and couldn't believe how empty it was, how ugly it was, how useless. I stood there, and, for a few seconds, I cried. I realized how stupid I was being and that there was only one thing I could do to get on with my life.
You know anyone who wants to sell a '61?