When I saw her at the SEMA Show, I got the same feeling I did when I climbed aboard the school bus in third grade and saw a cute little blonde girl sitting all by herself. The morning sun was shining right through the window onto her golden locks, and she at that point was the prettiest thing I had ever seen. I stood paralyzed on the steps, mouth dry, hands numb.
“Well, why dontcha sit next to her?” the bus driver said in a Southern twang, winking at me. “What are ya waitin’ for?”
The “her” I saw at the SEMA Show was a Lamborghini displayed outside between the North and South Halls. Not being a car guy, I didn’t know what model she was or what she might have under the hood, but I did know she was a Lambo. And I knew what that feeling was inside me: love.
She was charcoal gray with black rims and the kind of style lines that made her look like she was moving while sitting still. A nice touch was the red brake calipers that, in my delirium, looked like pouty lips. Sharp angles gave her a “look but don’t touch” quality, much like a black widow.
I imagined taking her for a test drive on an isolated track, whipping through turns at speeds that normally would have me white-knuckled and soiling myself. In the dream, though, I’m remarkably calm as I push her to the limit.
Ah, the SEMA Show. A guy can dream, can’t he?
