That Fuzzy Feeling
The fact that you’re even reading this suggests you may have been there too. Those formative years of your youth hold memories of a certain car that gave you a fuzzy feeling inside, kind of like that first romantic someone. But that’s another story for another time.
That certain car materialized for me during a visit to a new-car dealership with my Ford-loving uncle, who wanted to check out these new tiny English cars called MG and Austin-Healey. At the ripe old age of 12, I didn’t know what to expect and I surely didn’t expect what I found. The gleaming little open-top two-seater, with its black leather interior and stubby little gear shift, had a dashboard so full of gauges (not idiot lights) that it could make a pilot envious. Sparkling wire-spoke wheels—instead of large, bland hubcaps—just set off the whole package. Somehow it looked all speedy just sitting there in the showroom. And a grip on the quick steering wheel let you know you had hold of something. Needless to say, I was hooked.
My uncle found the British Racing Green
