We spent the weekend in Mennonite country not far from Toronto. As we were enjoying a lovely day tootling around shopping for antiques and rocking chairs (well, I was shopping, Hubby was enduring), a young Mennonite man with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows drove by in his horse-draw cart.
Sporting car bucket seats.
"Huh," says I. "I suppose they're comfortable."
It was only when a second horse-drawn cart with car bucket seats holding two more young Mennonite guys drove by that it occured to me that I might be witnessing the Mennonite equivalents of hot rods.
Then another thing occurred to me.
You can keep your brooding, pale, angst-ridden vampire guys. I'd rather have sun-bronzed, good-looking, forearm-bearing young farmers.