Going topless


I would love to be able to go topless again. No—wait! That’s not what I meant. I mean to put the top down… as in a convertible. I have had a couple of convertibles in my life; wrecked one and had to sell the other. Unfortunately I can’t afford one right now. Too bad, because I love the feel of the wind on a warm summer night. There’s nothing more awe-inspiring than to be on an unlit road between towns with the top down, and to look up and see the billions of stars that you don’t see in the city.

My dad used to have a convertible when I was very young, and I think that’s where my love of convertibles began. That car made an impression on me, to the point that I still remember it vividly to this day. I don’t remember the exact model, but it was a Renault hard-top. It was gunmetal gray metallic. I thought it was gorgeous. It had no back seat, so my dad built little chairs for me and my brother that would fit behind the front seats. Can you imagine today putting your child into a loose chair set in the back of a convertible, with absolutely no safety restraints! Oh, the horror!

And yet, I not only survived, but loved it. That feeling—that car—imprinted on my psyche somehow, and I never lost the urge to have one of my own.

A ride in a convertible brings out something wild and free in me; it makes me feel as if all my boundaries have been completely erased. There are no longer any limits. It’s as liberating as, well, going topless!

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