By Bonni Brodnick The pocketsize Mini Coopers are about the cutest things on Westchester country roads. Going through a mid-life crisis (although at “mid” life he’d be living to 104, but don’t say anything), my husband gave in to buying a two-toned red hot Mini with a white top. I was used to driving around in a blue Volvo Mommy station wagon where I just hop in, shift into first gear, and go. No one ever looked at me. I didn’t even have to wear lipstick. “You’ll see,” said my husband. “When you drive a Mini, everyone waves. It’s just like boating.” Long Island Sound: Interstate 684? I saw no connection. No connection until I drove his Mini Cooper. Within three miles from home, two Mini drivers waved at me. Suddenly, I was no longer invisible in a Volvo station wagon. I was someone! I was also slightly embarrassed. “Yeah, hi,” I muttered and returned a wave limply under the dashboard, too abashed to look at the other driver. Another mile down the road, another Mini waved. What is this ...
A Blurb-ologist's Perspective