First loves, in retrospect, can be hard to account for. In fourth grade my heart beat faster when I sat close to Cecilia Revilla. I still see her dark Latina skin and eyes and the faint down on her upper lip, but in class pictures she now appears to have been no more adorable than any other little girl. A few years later I experienced a brief and violent crush on Bing Crosby's wife; when I google her now I find her indifferent, if not, in some pictures, distinctly repellent. For many years I longed to own a Jaguar XK-120; but when I finally got to drive one and found the steering wheel weirdly close to my chest, my passion cooled. And so with the first airplane I doted upon when I had reached an age at which having and flying an airplane were a practical possibility: the Midget Mustang. It looks homely to me now — foreshortened, angular, humped — but ah, the speed and agility it breathed then!