Sad Ferrari

Try as I might, my heart is not fooled, just my mind.

Three weeks ago, my wife and I were at a mall in a tourist town escaping cold windy weather. Tired of looking at the beautiful clothing and jewellery that is forbidden to my sex I took refuge in a comfortable chair and my sudoko book.

Close by was a children's entertainment area, with a merry go round and bungee-jumping and the inevitable horse or car or truck that the little ones can sit on and for a quarter pretend to be the driver. I love the look on the face of a little one at times like these; those that don't start to cry that is. 

One of the 'rides' made me feel inexplicably sad. It was a racing car on a post, waiting for that 25 cent donation to get it to lurch forward back up and down one more time. 

I had no idea why this made me feel this way, but I turned away from the scene as though it had power to hurt me.

I hadn't given that toy racing car a thought until this morning when what I wrote in a letter to a good friend suddenly brought back and fleshed out my sadness.

I wrote:

"I mostly just feel like my life is a tram that is running around its little track over and over and I am a Ferrari that has been made to look and act like a trolley car."

Silly troublesome heart.