What Color Is That?

I had to take an unexpected short road trip this weekend to meet my sister halfway to drop my niece off so she could go back home after spending a few weeks with her Grandma. After the exchange Mom and I decided that we would take the long way back home and ended up in Somerset, Kentucky on the fourth Saturday of the month. If you live anywhere within a 200 mile radius of Somerset you know that's the night they have a Cruise-in. Every old car from a Model T to a '57 Chevy to a '65 Mustang all the way up to souped up Monte Carlos and imitation Gravediggers were not only on display but were cruising up and down Highway 27. Luckily, we had driven my super cool and hot-looking dark red mustang and before you knew it we were cruising with all of the other hot rods. If you've never had a Mustang then you probably didn't know that everybody, all the time, wants to see what your car can do. It kinda gets old when 16-year-old pimply faced boys in 4-cylinder Civics want to take on the MA Fat Woman in her sexy red car. Give it up! You will not beat me in a zero to 60 burst of speed and you will be eating my dust. There is a specific reason that I wanted to go to Somerset and that's because it has the most southern Gold Star Chili restaurant. If you're not from the Cincinnati area then you don't know what I'm referring to. If you're from there then you know that you'll do most anything to get your chili fix. Different parts of the country all have specific foods that the locals just can't live without, even when they move away. My addiction just so happens to be a 3-way spaghetti and a cheese coney, no onions and mustard, of course. Anyhow, after we had enjoyed our meal we decided that we would get an ice cream to help settle our stomachs. See, there's two thing about Cincinnati style chili: You always gets stains on your shirt from eating it and you usually have a small case of heartburn, or maybe a belch or two to let out. We found us an outside bench to eat our ice cream and continued to watch the cars go past, admiring the different models and varied colors. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as a '55 or '56 model Chevy drove past. I didn't really know what color it was. I looked at Mom and said "What color is that?" "Titty pink!" she said. "What?" "It's titty pink," she said. "At least that's what we used to call it back in the '50s."