My legs are too short

I'm 5'4" and I've alwasy thought my legs were a little on the short side. This was never more apparent to me than Friday night. The car above is the reason why.

Friday I went up to my friend N's house in Pittsburgh. Our friend K was coming thru town and staying with N for the night. I thought we were just going to hangout and catch up. N being a mom who doesn't get to go out with the girl's much, was like 'no, we are going OUT". Let me back up and say that N and her husband are well-off. To the extent that I actually can't comprehend. But you'd never know it because they're the most level headed, normal, act like middle-class, un-snobby people we know. The only thing her husband splurges on is cars. The have several nice cars. His baby being an Aston Martin V8 Vantage. This was a Bond Car. When he first got it he took Dan for a spin and I think Dan drooled the entire time. Apparently guys who like cars would think this is an awesome car. It's handmade. The engine is the loudest thing I've ever heard in a car. And I guess it's very. expensive. It's racing green, two seater with room for a tissue box in the "back seat".

So N says to her husband, 'hey, can we take the Aston out tonight?" He said "Sure, but only if JA drives it"........ oh shit. (This is because I could drive a stick, and he knows I'm as OCD as he is)

Other people, meaning guys, would probably leap at this chance. All I thought was, god that's an expensive car. I think it cost more than our house. So he gets it out, warms it up and has to show me how to set the parking break, use the push-button starter, etc. This is his baby and he acts like he's letting me drive a golf cart. He is sooooo nice. So we get in and pull out of the driveway. I decided to take a lap around te neighborhood before we went anywhere. Here's where the leg part comes in - at last.... I had to pull the seat all the way forward, and even then I was stretching my leg and clutching tippy-toed. I have to say I did fine, it was the SMOOTHEST ride I've ever driven. ok, also the most expensive car I've ever driven, but at least I never stalled it out. This is important, as people kept looking at us. But the longer we drove around, my left leg starts quivering from stretching. I was so worried about concentrating on driving, that it was hard to relax and enjoy driving it.

Here's where it gets better. N wants to catch up on going out all into this night. I thought we were going just up the road...no we have to drive around Pittsburgh bar hoping. First stop is Mount Washington. There is nowhere to park, so she said, let's valet it at Le Mont. ok. So we pull up, everyone outside stops to watch the car. I have to fumble a bit with the parking break. I stammer something to the attendant that it was 'my friendshusbandscarandonlyidrivestick'..this car so obviously did not belong to me. We get out, we all have on jeans and basically t-shirts. we are now obligated to go into the restaurant we valeted at, even though we wanted to go to the pub down the street. When you enter this restaurant,it is marble walls, gold-crusted everything, crystal chandeliers, black-tie waiters. I'm like, what the hell....we suddenly revert to 14 year olds trying to pass for college girls buying beer, turn tail and walk out. The valet guy stops us and says, 'hey, do you think there's a dress code? There's no dress code, c'mon, I'll take ya in". So e shows us to the oppulent bar. Full of guido's and Botox. We are the youngest people there by 20 years. Like the game, "which of these things doesn't belong in this picture". We do have a drink, we can watch the fireworks going on all over the city from the view. Mt. Washington overlooks the city, so the view is amazing. The city alllll lit up - very cool. But then the piano player starts letting the old ladies sing with him, and we decide one drink there is enough of an obligatory purchase to warrant the valet service. So we leave and head to the next bar. Don't stay long, go back get valet checked. As the fireworks were over, everone is streaming out of the restaurants, so again, I'm concentrating so hard on making a smooth pull-away.

Now N wants to head down to Carson St, then cooler, younger, bar-hopping singles area. I love this part of town. Normally. Because normally I don't give a second thought to parking my rodeo in a back alley because there is no parking around this area. Carson is a slow drive, full of redlights. First gear the whole way, riding the brake and clutch so I don't stall. Get to a newer developed area, park on a well-lit street and go to an Irish pub. Very quiet bar, boring actually. But at least we can talk and catch up.

On the drive home I finally can relax, actually got it into 6th, enjoyed the car a bit. But I was so happy when I pulled it into the garage. This was good exercise in the fact that at least now I know when we win the lottery I won't be spending money on a car for myself. And the fact that it doesn't seem like I could pull of acting wealthy even if I had the chance.