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Pobst Position: Racing Romance 2
Page: 1 Links
"You're a race car driver? Oh, must be women everywhere." A common misconception of average folks I meet. "Well, maybe at Formula One and NASCAR, but have you been to a sports car event? "Almost all men. Always." I tell them. The only women there are wives and girlfriends, reading books. With a few special exceptions. I've always been so attracted to females who loved cars and, even more, that could drive. And if they trailer their own car? Katy, bar the door, I am in love! In fact, my ex-wife Linda had a very high looks-to-driving-talent ratio, putting on work gloves to save her nails while changing to her sticky tires. What a turn-on. My earliest sponsor was a girlfriend in college who let me autocross whatever she was driving, and would get frisky to-and-from every cross-state event we attended. Ahh, memories. I guess the racing really did help a skinny nerd like me get a date. There was sweet Shirley from Phoenix, the mother of a PR girl on one of my teams (Shut up, Punk, I like the mothers better!). What a comedian, she cracked me up. Had an old Pontiac that ran on five cylinders. I was so proud the day I fixed that thing in her parking lot with a new MAP sensor. Ran smooth as silk after two years of adding greatly to the area smog. But I lived in Atlanta. I broke her heart, swore I'd never date again long-distance, then got home and found an unusual letter in my mailbox.

Mitzy was a brainy and fit librarian I'd met with her fussy part-time boyfriend on pit lane at Daytona. Big blue eyes, barely a hundred pounds, she looked like a drowned rat from the rain early in the race. We all talked cars for a while and I thought nothing of it. Her well-written, clever note pretty much was asking me out. I'm a sucker for a good vocabulary. Oh, no, I though, no long distance, no. But I did happen to be driving to Florida the very next day to be the "special guest" at an open house party at Alex Job Racing in Orlando. And the Rolex race where I met her was to be on TV that afternoon. And could she find a place where we could watch it, like a sports bar? No bar, but she had Speed channel at her place. Uh, oh. We had a nice dinner out afterwards, but I was determined, no long-distance. Told her so, said good-night, went to peck her on the cheek, and she turned and caught me on the lips, the little vixen. But off I went, no more phone dating! Except that during the evening, she mentioned that she and the iffy boyfriend had gotten an invite to the open house. Uh, oh. It was packed, and I knew everyone, but I kept looking over their shoulders for that little woman I did not want to date. She had her own retro style, and showed up in a bright yellow sixties'-inspired outfit, cute as a button. A quick hello was all I could manage in the swirl of the party. Alex had arranged a big drawing of door prizes, and I meant to bring a nice Porsche Motorsport sweater, but left it home. I explained to the crowd I'd send it, joked about digging for a ticket from a pretty girl, then drew a number from the hundreds in the bin, and called it out. Guess who won. As a very attractive woman in yellow made her way to the podium, there was a loud groan from the throng; "Set up, set up, it was rigged!" I was in shock. It was real. I drew Mitzy's number. What are the odds? GOD meant it to be. As she reached the front, I shook her hand and said, "I guess I'll have to deliver the sweater in person." Another wonderful long-distance relationship.
 
 
 
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