I'd never understood my mom's obsession with her '66 Mustang. The way she took care of it, had it detailed regularly. I was even pretty sure she'd spelled it to protect the paint and interior from damage. Come on. It was just a car.
Until she and Dad one happy, sunny morning just a few weeks ago, handed me a jingling set of keys. Squealing in absolute excitement, I found myself staring down the grill of a brand new Cooper Mini. I didn't care it was the same car Mom's best friend Erica drove. Not one little bit. I loved my car immediately with a powerful sense of possession I'd never felt before.
I refrained from hugging its cute bonnet only out of sheer willpower, sliding behind the leather-covered wheel into the black seats that seemed made for me. It had been the most incredible gift I
