I was working in the city and had parked my car in a garage that takes and retrieves your car. As I stood patiently waiting, an older gentleman with his arm around a woman much younger than him stood a few feet away. 

I see my car approaching and start walking towards it. The driver stops in front of the couple, gets out and opens the door for whom I feel is the epitome of why the ‘sugar daddy’ phrase was invented. They look confusingly at the driver and I yell that’s my car. 

I’ve never seen a man turn so red from embarrassment before. He gets back in and pulls it up to me. As he holds the door open for me he apologizes and says he’s sorry that he assumed the car belonged to the gentleman. I ask why he assumed that and he shook his head and said, “well, you know….”

I say no, not really. I get into my brand new mustang, just a base, but a mustang none the less and consider this on my way home. I’m a 40-something, professional female. I’m heavy set. Which of these appearance factors = can’t be the owner of a mustang? 

Then I think, it’s probably not me, but the assumption even I had made regarding the couple. I wish I had stuck around to see what he was really driving. 

I had named my mustang Lola. It just felt right. She certainly wasn’t close to an Eleanor (see the movie gone in 60 seconds if you don’t know what I’m referring to. I cried when I had to trade her in for a more appropriate vehicle for my family. 

Someday, I shall be a Mustang Mom, until then, sigh, the mini van is mine. Does that better match my stereotype? Have you ever had someone think something couldn’t possibly be yours?