So I was shopping for sensible sedans (think Sonata or Fusion) and the keys to this pretty much fell in my lap. And now the Commonwealth of PA has seen fit to allow me to title and register it in my own name. This is roughly analogous to handing a Ziploc full of Sharpies to a toddler sitting in a formal living room and saying, “Now you be goooooood...”

I realize, of course, that this makes me the butt of the joke on multiple levels. To the general public, I’m the pasty middle-aged guy with the receding hairline who went out and bought a red sports car. To car enthusiasts, I’m that troll who insists that an M3 isn’t worth the money because V6 Mustang. (Not that I actually believe that, but the guy in the M3 next to me at the traffic light thinks I do.)


However, I’m finding it hard to be upset about any of this because at the end of the day, my new daily driver is a 300 horsepower Mustang convertible.

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