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Miss Peggy is a pushover for anything free, which explains why we're driving around in a luminescent Toyota Matrix instead of a sedate gray Honda Civic.

It happened last winter when Miss Peggy told me that the local Honda dealership was offering a free George Foreman grill to anyone who would test drive one of its cars.

"We're not going to buy another car," I told her. "The Civic is doing fine: great acceleration, superb handling, and close to 40 miles per gallon on the road."

"I don't want to buy a car," she said. "I just want to get the free grill."

I didn't know what a Foreman grill was. I thought George Foreman was a pitchman for Midas, and I didn't need a muffler or a brake job. But it was a Sunday afternoon and I had nothing else to do, so I went along.

We test drove a Honda Fit. Nice, fuel-efficient little car, but I wouldn't trade my Civic for one.

As we handed the keys back to the salesman, she asked: "Where's my Foreman grill?"

"What grill?" he asked.

"The one you're offering to people who take test drives."

"We're not offering free grills," he said.

She thanked him politely, and we drove on.

"Must have been the Toyota dealer," she said.

So we drove up the street to the Toyota place. The first thing that struck our eyes was a bright-colored Matrix that lit up the sales lot the way a neon Budweiser sign lights up a redneck bar. It looked like a pre-shrunk SUV, so I felt safe. Miss Peggy doesn't like SUVs, especially when they come in garish colors.

So we drove it. She was smitten by the power-operated moon roof and an array of other gadgets that auto manufacturers hang onto their vehicles to appeal to a gadget-minded generation. It drove great.

The icing on the cake was this: The car was being sold as a used car, although it had only 300 miles on the odometer.

"Why did the first buyer bring it back?" I asked skeptically.

"He said his family made him return it," the salesman said. "He was off his meds when he bought it." It figured.

He quoted us a price that made Miss Peggy forget about all the sedate powder blue, platinum gold, mint green and galactic gray cars we had owned before. The only thing that can render her color blind is a flashy bargain.

"You'll be able to get into and out of it easier with your arthritis," she told me. When Miss Peggy is on the salesman's side, it's best to throw in your hand.

"When do I get my grill?" she asked after we had signed the papers.

"What grill?"

"The George Foreman grill you were offering to anybody who would take a test drive."

"We're not giving away grills, but we do give away a Honey-Baked Ham to everybody who takes a test drive," he said.

I'll be paying for that ham for years to come.

To give credit to Toyota, the Matrix is a nice little car. It's roomy for its size, and the back seats fold down to form a practical cargo floor, which also makes a nice pen for Miss Candi, our aged Peke-a-poo, who can curl up back there in her canine bed during long trips. As a bonus, the bright bronze color makes it a cinch to spot in the Walmart parking lot.

"How much did they knock off the price for that color?" asked one old friend. You'll have to excuse him. He's in his 80s and still likes cars painted in various shades of beige. To him, silver gray is flashy.

But I soon found that I was riding the cutting edge of automotive color fashion. I have received more compliments on that car than on all my previous cars combined.

"I love the color of your car," said the young woman handing me my senior coffee as I passed through the drive-through lane.

"That's a sporty car, and I love the color," said a woman in her '60s as I pulled into the driveway of her farm house beside her Ford Explorer.

The color is something close to the color of a Halloween pumpkin, which is why we have nicknamed it "the pumpkin." It's sort of a Cinderella coach for Miss Peggy.

It's kind to my arthritis, its mileage is in the low 20s around town and the low 30s on the Interstate. And Miss Candi loves her play pen.

Oh, about that grill. One day, after we had logged a few miles on the Pumpkin, I was going through some old mail. There was an advertisement mailed to us by a Honda dealer in a town 100 miles down the road. We had stopped there two years earlier while visiting family and looking for the best buy on a Civic. We didn't buy from that dealer, but the salesman entered us into his computer anyway, and that's how we got the sales flier: "Come in and test drive a new Honda and we'll give you a George Foreman grill."

Not this time, George, but we'll keep you in mind if we need a muffler or a brake job.

Readers may write to Gene Owens at 315 Lakeforest Circle, Anderson SC 29625, or e-mail him at Swampscum2@aol.com.