Something Blue

At first I took them for bridesmaids. They corrected me: they were the something blue. A group of friends in matching light blue dresses was a novel way to check that box.

During the reception, one of them wandered over to my car with a cigarette between her fingers. “Do you have a light?”

I patted my vest pockets. “Sorry.”

“No worries,” she said.

“Oh, wait!” I waved her toward the passenger seat. “You’re going to like this.”

I slid behind the wheel and pushed in a knob on the dash while we made small talk. After a few moments, it popped back out with a satisfying click. I pulled it free and presented her with its glowing tip. “Use that.”

She touched the cigarette to the coil and took a few gentle puffs until it caught. Then she exhaled a small cloud of smoke. “Get out! Your car has a built-in lighter?”

“Yes,” I said. “And ashtrays.”

She went off to enjoy her smoke, but in short order she was back with an entourage of something blues. “You are not going to believe this,” she announced, “but this car has a cigarette lighter!”

One by one, they took turns pushing in the lighter and marveling at its glowing coil.

The car was built in 1951, when a lighter in the dash was standard equipment. That night, it was the newest thing they’d ever seen.