"DEAR FERRARI OF NEW ENGLAND..."

Dear Ferrari of New England,

I can't tell you what a thrill it was to receive your invitation for a test drive of the new Ferrari California.  At first, I thought there must be some mistake, but since you've seen fit to send me a reminder, I can only assume you're serious.

It has been my lifelong dream to pilot one of your legendary sports cars, and the California would more than fit the bill.  I yearn to hear the low growl of its 4.3 liter 460 horsepower direct injection V8 engine, to climb through its 7-speed dual clutch gearbox, to accelerate from 0 to 60 in less than 4 seconds, and to cruise the highway at its top speed of 193 mph with the wind whipping through my hair.  Of course, given the traffic on Rte. 1, I'll have to settle for stop-and-go at 15 mph with my hair drooping on my forehead.  No matter.

I feel it's only fair to apprise you of some misgivings.  My eyesight is a tad compromised, and I was only granted my license (daylight restricted) after presenting the Registry with a medical file the size of the Oxford English Dictionary.  Also, the last car I drove with a standard transmission was a 1985 VW Rabbit whose top speed could be seriously challenged by an Amish buggy.  My heart may be a Ferrari, but my driving skills are strictly Ford Pinto and my reaction times best suited for a Schwinn Cruiser.  If you're OK with this, I'm ready to roll.

I don't wish to look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth, but I wonder what I did to deserve this opportunity.  I have never been to your Norwood showroom, nor have I ever made inquiries about purchasing one of your automobiles.  I'm neither wealthy nor the heir to a fortune, and I don't travel in the circles of those who are.  Frankly, I've always thought my chances of owning a Ferrari were about the same as owning a space shuttle.

Not to belabor the point, but I've been unemployed for over a year, and I've read that the California sells for just under $200,000.  Unless it sells for $195,000 under $200,000, it's unlikely I can drum up the cash.  Further, while looking for work, I have survived on the largesse of the Mass. Dept. of Workforce Development.  I can only imagine how the taxpayers of Massachusetts might feel about my wheeling around town in a nicer car than the Governor's.

But obviously you know all this, or you would have never courted me in the first place.  And unless you have a sudden change of heart, I'll be down on the Automile as quickly as my ten-year-old Camry will get me there.

Gratefully yours,

Jeff Brawer.