The Most Accurate Quiz Result We've Posted

Your Summer Ride is a Mustang Convertible

You're out to experience the very best of summer. From the best beaches to the best tan, you want it all!

What's Your Summer Ride?

Frankly, you can have the beaches, and even the summer tan. What we really desire, long-for, pine for, dream of, lust after, dream about, scheme over, fondly fantasize, and crave with an intensity never before known to any human creature, is the car.

The Oklahomilist garage is full of boxes, pool chemicals, yard tools, and little else of lasting value, but it's our "stuff" and we're proud of it. What would complete the collection would be a Mustang convertible. Ah yes, the luster of the lust has never diminished. A older cousin once owned a Mustang convertible, and we remember a 13-year-old's idyllic summer as he introduced us to the joys of wind-whipped cruising with the radio up, the Troggs bleating "Wild Thing." (Purists insist on the original recording, not the well-intentioned but inferior Joan Jett version.)

So of course from that point on nothing seemed more desirable than a Mustang convertible. My Mustang mania was so captivating that three or four of the Oklahomilist's friends were converted from mere worship of GTOs and Chargers to the true Church of Mustang. We decided that upon our high school graduation we would each take Mustangs and caravan on a magnificent pilgrimage across this great continent. Alas, reality eventually won out and we all bought what we could afford.

One friend had a lime green Dodge Roadrunner, it's most distinguishing feature good gas mileage and one of the first 8-track tape decks. Another bought a magnificent white Dodge Challenger (the Steve McQueen car), and installed a better sound system (still 8-track), thus pre-empting the Roadrunner, despite its gas guzzling tendencies.

Of course, the prophet of Mustang was expected to top them both but could not, settling for a used Corvair Monza Spyder convertible. On a sunny day you could almost forget what a cheap piece of machine it was. On a dark and stormy night, when one bolt fell out of position, the rear engine fell to the pavement. It was, however, very good in snow, and the seats reclined which were perfect for the make-out sessions that were always anticipated yet, uh, never quite materialized. (Reality was winning way too much.)

Later we owned a Mustang hard-top. Loved every minute of it but dreamed of toplessness. The 'Stang came to a sad end when a young lad in the "neighborhood," using a narrow back road to avoid contact with law enforcement as he was driving on a suspended license, lost control at a high rate of speed on a small hilly curve and slammed into the precious car, killing it the instant the insurance adjuster got a good look at the bent frame. (Our only consolation: the highway patrol, called to the scene, found more than enough to book our neighbor into the county jail.)

That, alas, was pretty much the end of the dream. Life has continued to intervene in ways sufficient to deny the Oklahomilist the joy of a Mustang convertible. Some might think it cruel that the questionaire chose to remind us of our unrequited love, but as memories and passions are rekindled, we choose to be forgiving.

Maybe, if we can pay off a few bills, next year in a Mustang cloth-top!

(A Yip! and a "Damn you!" to Robbo el Llama)