In praise of a car that runs

It’s really all about electric windows when you finally leap into the adult car world (“Dumping the Old Gal,” May 1). And what a luxury it is! With the tap of a finger, it’s a nice smoggy breeze or closing off the outside world for a more private chat on the cell phone.

In my 20s, I had two cool cars: a Sunbeam Tiger (it had a V8 Shelby Cobra engine), and then my ’66 Land Rover, my alter-ego tomboy don’t-mess-with-me, saving-grace-when-the-big-one-hits truck. Guys loved it.

Then one moves into one’s 30s and that really fast car keeps breaking down and your nice, expensive pumps seem to melt under the heat of an engine the size of an elephant crammed in a car body the size of a mouse.

You have to wear a sports bra to drive the truck you think makes you stand out in the crowd, and when you miss your grandma’s kugel because the rear axle snapped on Laurel Canyon and you’re in some creepy screenwriter’s dark shack making a phone call and he’s hitting on you ... well ... it’s time to get a real car.

Plus, having a radio is really great.

The only problem is -- how do you still look cool? Tint the windows.

Laura Newman

Los Angeles