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Abstract

g.</p><p id="c1eb">It should be said that I was still employed at the time, so financing wasn’t an issue.</p><p id="2b1a">As I wasn’t quite sure what I was looking for, I decided to hone in on curb appeal, like you do with a house, and leave the rest to my husband. Safety, mileage. You know. Like that.</p><p id="8b8c">Immediately, I was drawn to a Ford Mustang. It was sleek, but powerful-looking, and I loved that freakin’ horse on the bumper. It wasn’t red, like I would have preferred, but it was sweet, regardless.</p><p id="ba34">I got in, and it felt good. Hot, people. It was comfortable, but the longer I sat there, the less comfortable I felt. Something was missing. That je ne sais quoi, if you will.</p><p id="142b">The Mustang was still a contender but I kept looking. Next up: The Mini Cooper. So damn cute and I’d been seeing them all over the road. But, was that a good thing. Did I want to see myself coming and going?</p><p id="3d97">There were several Minis on the floor and I looked at them all. The thing is, they had a teeny, tiny trunk, and I didn’t think that would fly after one of my manic trips to the local produce market where I’d stock up on phytonutrients.</p><p id="5aba">The beginnings of a headache reared its ugly mug and I was about ready to put the whole car thing off for another day until my hubby, who was standing by a car on the other side of the room gestured for me to come over.</p><p id="3708">“What about this? The mileage is out of site and it’s gotten great reviews.”</p><p id="60af">The car in question was a metallic-brown Fiat. Small, but not too. And hella sexy. To me, anyway.</p><p id="6ed9">I got in the driver’s seat and immediately I knew. This was the ride for me. The interior — brown and beige leather — was surprisingly spacious and ultra comfortable. I didn’t feel too low to the ground, either, as I did in the Mustang.</p><p id="1d0a">That was it. A done deal. I should say, being half-Italian the whole Italian thing got me, too, even though the Fiat brand is now part of Chrysler.</p><p id="dfe5">I’m still driving that car, today. It’s my “chocolate kiss” and I love it. It has plenty of giddy-up and whips in and out of lanes like a rocket. And, when I see my Italian oncologist for my six-month check-ins, we talk about our Italian cars. A Maserati for him and a Fiat for me.<

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/p><p id="ed40">A big difference, considering the six-figure tab on a a Maserati, but at the end of the day, “love” is love.</p><p id="bc7d"><i>Sherry McGuinn is a longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.</i></p><p id="ff18">Thanks for reading, guys. I hope you enjoyed. If so, please check out more of my stories, as well as my pub, Rogues’ Gallery. I’m proud of the great writers/editors that are a part of it.</p><div id="1a94" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/coming-clean-at-the-laundromat-e8b69ac0045"> <div> <div> <h2>Coming Clean at the Laundromat</h2> <div><h3>A mini soap opera.</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*vvwUdJJPOfB8wI5yM8uFJg.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="adb5" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/oh-the-goofy-shit-we-say-fa63f1cd657b"> <div> <div> <h2>Oh, The Goofy Shit We Say</h2> <div><h3>Is it any wonder that nobody’s listening?</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*iLsQp3QrdnhNwi6OepuCUg.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="3142" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/burn-or-bury-7fb188ff3546"> <div> <div> <h2>Burn or Bury?</h2> <div><h3>Where do you stand (lie)?</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*uXqoO9X9bwYYsNN_eLAKRA.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

Lemme Tell You About My Car

Since I’m Medium-mind-effed right now and don’t know what the hell to write about.

“Bah Fungoo!” Italian hand gesture. Source: Flickr.Com

It’s a new day for us Medium folk, or so I’ve heard. It must be because I’ve seen a shit-load of new stories coming down the pike, like every hour on the hour. More “how to’s” on how to navigate this new minefield.

I’m still trying to figure out the old one, guys! Still obsessing over my shitty payouts and the odd follower who stops following and the frequency of my publishing and all that rot. Wondering if I’m good enough, smart enough, talented enough to “make it” here. (I am. I’m just playing with you.)

So, this is a lot to take in, and I had an idea for a new story. I did! I really, really did! But the fucker flew right out of my head when my buddy Kristi Keller forwarded the email from Medium to me that, for some strange Gmail reason perhaps, I didn’t receive. (Thanks, Medium! Have I been “fired?”)

Anyway, in the spirit of pulling myself up by my bootstraps and yanking up my Big Girl Pants and all that crap, I pulled the following from my butt. By some miracle, I hope you’ll like it.

Four years ago, maybe five as I really don’t remember, I bought a 2012 Fiat (the high- end model, mind you) and never looked back.

Not a “car person,” per se, I decided it was time to drive something a little sexier than my previous Subaru. Now, the Subaru is a great car and it’s won all kinds of safety awards, but I was ready for something different.

I was ready to be car-fucked.

My hubby and I headed over to the local CarMax, split up, and started looking for something that said “Sherry, take me home, baby.”

This was around the time that both my parents were diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer, and about two months before I found a lump in my breast. Good times! So, my head was in a weird place. Everything felt a bit surreal, and as I walked around the huge showroom, I started rethinking this whole thing.

It should be said that I was still employed at the time, so financing wasn’t an issue.

As I wasn’t quite sure what I was looking for, I decided to hone in on curb appeal, like you do with a house, and leave the rest to my husband. Safety, mileage. You know. Like that.

Immediately, I was drawn to a Ford Mustang. It was sleek, but powerful-looking, and I loved that freakin’ horse on the bumper. It wasn’t red, like I would have preferred, but it was sweet, regardless.

I got in, and it felt good. Hot, people. It was comfortable, but the longer I sat there, the less comfortable I felt. Something was missing. That je ne sais quoi, if you will.

The Mustang was still a contender but I kept looking. Next up: The Mini Cooper. So damn cute and I’d been seeing them all over the road. But, was that a good thing. Did I want to see myself coming and going?

There were several Minis on the floor and I looked at them all. The thing is, they had a teeny, tiny trunk, and I didn’t think that would fly after one of my manic trips to the local produce market where I’d stock up on phytonutrients.

The beginnings of a headache reared its ugly mug and I was about ready to put the whole car thing off for another day until my hubby, who was standing by a car on the other side of the room gestured for me to come over.

“What about this? The mileage is out of site and it’s gotten great reviews.”

The car in question was a metallic-brown Fiat. Small, but not too. And hella sexy. To me, anyway.

I got in the driver’s seat and immediately I knew. This was the ride for me. The interior — brown and beige leather — was surprisingly spacious and ultra comfortable. I didn’t feel too low to the ground, either, as I did in the Mustang.

That was it. A done deal. I should say, being half-Italian the whole Italian thing got me, too, even though the Fiat brand is now part of Chrysler.

I’m still driving that car, today. It’s my “chocolate kiss” and I love it. It has plenty of giddy-up and whips in and out of lanes like a rocket. And, when I see my Italian oncologist for my six-month check-ins, we talk about our Italian cars. A Maserati for him and a Fiat for me.

A big difference, considering the six-figure tab on a a Maserati, but at the end of the day, “love” is love.

Sherry McGuinn is a longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.

Thanks for reading, guys. I hope you enjoyed. If so, please check out more of my stories, as well as my pub, Rogues’ Gallery. I’m proud of the great writers/editors that are a part of it.