And what was that one dude’s name – Rogger – who wanted to bed my girlfriend on a losing bet he made about when Kansas City’s first Fiat dealership would open.
Then of course there were the Mini Cooper devotees who couldn’t get over that the new Fiat 500 got better mileage, had a better ride, sold for on average $4,000 less than similarly equipped Coopers and was seven inches shorter but still had a 50 percent larger trunk and substantially more backseat legroom.
The Cooper was a bit faster, they argued and they were right, but that was about it.
Well, now I’ve done the unthinkable and sold my limited Prima Edizione Fiat.
For a Mini Cooper? Nope. Lotus Evora, a la Craig? Not a chance.
I bought a Rosso Fiat Abarth.
Same car Scribe hero Charlie Sheen zooms about his house in in those TV spots with smoking hot supermodel Catrinel Menghia.
So yes, I’m giving up two MPGs city and four highway on the proposition, but it still gets 28 and 34. Plus it’s definitely a little barn burner, and if worst comes to worst, I can loan it to Craig to try and pick up older chicks.
Because when you drive a Cinquecento, women go out with you in spite of the car.
In any case, the Abarth is killer cool looking, still gets great mileage – that’s extremely important, even for Republicans – and while the Mini Cooper S is still a little faster, who cares? The Abarth blows it away in rarity and hipness.
And finally – I repeat, finally – I drive a car my wife (and former girlfriend’s) 13 year-old son would not only not be embarrassed to own or drive. In fact he wants one.
I know, I know, small step for mankind.