The flying purple Mini
with loose muffler
severed the evening repose
My first car was a Mini, affectionately known as The Purple Flying Brick.
A sweaty sauna in summer, a miserable icebox in winter - sheepskin coat, beanie and gloves were essential clothing.
“Agricultural” some said disparagingly,
but fun nonetheless.
I loved it except for the red-faced embarrassment it caused late one wintry night when the muffler fell off.
Dressed to the nines for a night on the town I scavenged in the gutter for twine to hold the muffler on.
It took a while to acknowledge that fast or slow made no difference, entire neighbourhoods within miles knew I was coming.
Thanks to Hart and her commenters for the inspiration for this post. It was fun to write and brought back many fond memories of living with an aging Mini. Wish I had a photo...
NB: No Oreos were consumed in the writing of this post.
A drabble is a story told in 100 words. No more, no less.