Aston Martin

Yesterday it was my father's night to cook. So, we went out to dinner. Dinner was great, good conversation, a burger, some fries, and a brownie. The ride there was rather uneventful, but the ride home was excellent. I saw a silver Aston Martin parked near my town's movie theatre. Now-a-days movie tickets are much like Aston Martin: only the rich can afford them. Now the problem with Astons is that (with the exception of the One-77, the V12 Zagato, and that dreadful-looking Cygnet) most of them look the same. Now, unlike what this would mean for any other car maker, for Aston this means that every car they produce is gorgeous. I can tell you this, for the few brief moments that I saw it I concluded it was either a DBS of a Vantage.

Now, as I was just about drooling over this exquisite car, my mother was looking at something totally different. I was interested in the car in the space. She was looking at the space itself, which happened to be handicapped. 

Claire: Wow! An Aston Martin! I think that's a DBS! Look at it! It's Beautiful! Ya know I- 

Mother: It's parked in a handicapped spot. Hmm, I wonder if they actually ARE handicapped. 

Claire: Yeah, Mom, but it's an Aston Mart-

Mother: If they aren't handicapped, I hope they get a ticket.

I gave up after that. No doubt my mother was right. If they weren't handicapped they shouldn't have parked there. And I'm sure that either way people who drive Astons think they are entitled. But the experience had been ruined. I was excited to see a car that for a month now has evaded me on the road. From April to June, my commute to work yielded at least three Astons a month, but recently there had been an Aston drought so severe I had begun to pray for them much the way a farmer prays for rain.  

At that moment I wish I had been by myself in that car because I would have pulled over and reveled in its beauty. 

Eyes open, 

Claire