The night we met I knew I needed you so, and if I had the chance I’d never let you go.
So won’t you say you love me, I’ll make you so proud of me.
We’ll make ’em turn their heads every place we go.
So won’t you please be my, be my baby.

    I can no longer help myself, I can’t hold it up inside any longer. I am so in love that the mere sight of my object of desire creates this uncontrollable reaction within me. A squeal of delight, a call of yearning!

    Dang it, I want that Z4 so bad it hurts! No matter where I go, one seems to crop up to taunt me with its curvaceousness. A few days ago I got stuck in a traffic jam on Fairfax County Parkway. Some ditz in a Mercury was tailing me too closely, braking with only inches to spare, taking her impatience out on me. I was angry, I was fed up, I was royally peeved. Then suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, a black angel rolled into view… Before I knew it, I exclaimed, “Eeeeeeeee! My BABY!”

    That well dressed gentleman in the right-hand lane was driving my baby. It may have only been a 2.5l Z4, but it was still a Z4. It had grace, he had style, and I wanted his car. All at once my troubles melted away and I became as giddy as a school girl. My heart was drafting love sonnets as I gazed at it, floating dreamily amidst the traffic, ensconced in its own private world of raw power. In the wise words of Elvis, I want it, I need it, I love it.

    Don’t get me wrong, I’m still just as much in love with Ferraris as I used to be, particularly that delicious Scaglietti. But Ferraris, they’re show pieces. They’re meant to be driven rarely, savored every second, then returned with care to their sterile shadow boxes. But there’s something wild about a Z4; it draws you in, tempts you relentlessly to drop everything, get behind that wheel, and speed off to a new life in South America where you can change your name to Lolita and never ever go back. The wanton thrill of the accelerator, the growl that envelopes your entire being…

    And here’s where I need to remember to breathe. But then the vision escapes me and I’m left alone in my dream of a life in the hills of Corcovado, the sweet sounds of bossa nova reverberating through the Harmon Kardon, and some exotic gentleman drifting off to sleep as I drive aimlessly through the Brazilian night. What a lovely life that would be, if only I had my baby…