Only 6?

This evening I volunteered to go out and put gas in the car. It is a rather mundane task, yet it is one that I savor. You see, in those precious 15 minutes, no one is fighting to the death over the last popsicle. No one is screaming, "Mooooommmm!" At the gas pump, nothing is thrown in anger (though it probably should be in protest of the outrageous price per gallon). I am not called upon to settle any disputes, no matter how trivial. In fact, for those glorious few minutes NO one is attached to my boob (yes, he's still nursing, and despite the fact that it feels like he's 3 years old, he's only 10 months).

When I started the ignition this evening, I was assaulted by the car stereo. Obviously my first born was the last one to touch the dial, as evidenced by the blood threatening to gush from my ears due to the decibel level. I've got to admit that I am not a huge fan of my kids' music preferences. At the risk of sounding like my parents, I cannot stand the nonsense lyrics, redundant thumping, and worst of all the lack of creativity and talent. How hard is it to sample the music of others and have a computer enhance your voice to a tolerable pitch? But I digress.

Once the pressure in my ears equalized I was able to make out something about a contest sponsored by the radio station. The grand prize is a brand new V-6 Ford Mustang.

Huh...?

Um...?

Am I the only one that believes that is an oxymoron? Military intelligence, deafening silence, and now V-6 Mustang?

*sigh* I miss the 80s.