I'm going to enjoy my Mustang while I can.

As most know, I'm getting a bit o' knee surgery this week.

And the worst part isn't necessarily the pain or the swelling or the possibility of crutches.

No. The worst part about having my leg operated on is that I won't be able to drive Eleanor Rigby for at least a week.

So I'm going to enjoy her while the enjoying is good.

I baby my car. It's pathetic, actually. I don't rag the motor. I let her warmup before putting her into gear. I park her in the back of parking lots. I usually drive below the speed limit. Blah bla bla.

A coworker told me not too long ago, "Grandma, this car is wasted on you."

Well, wasted no more! This weekend, I replaced my blood with testosterone. I got aggressive. And I drove that car like I was running from the law.

I was like a 16 year old boy in a Ferrari. And it was fucking fun.

The best part, I think Eleanor Rigby liked it, too.

Saturday morning, I drove with the windows down and the stereo up (I know, not that big a deal). Saturday night, I took turns too quickly and really gave my automatic traction control a run for its money. Sunday morning, I got her up to 100. For the first time.

And as the needle slid closer and closer to the triple digits, I realized that I had been wasting this car.

Not that I'm going to turn into one of those asshole drivers. Not that I'm going to go 80 all of the time. Not that I'm going to race cops and squeal my tires at every light. But I am going to make a point of having a little more fun behind the wheel.

Just put it on my list of things to do after recovery.