Once upon a time, there was a man. He was a crazy young man, and he drove an MG Midget. He loved that little Midget, though it had its share of challenges, mainly in the whole starting up and running arena. And so it was that he moved on to a Mercury Cougar, and then a van, and then an SUV, and a little compact car alongside it.
Then he met a girl -- his trophy wife, as he called her. This girl's only experience with MGs was when she took care of a 16 year old in the ICU who had run her MG under the Bingo bus, putting her into a coma, and settling several of her teeth into her lungs, a week after she got her braces off. Needless to say, the girl didn't have great thoughts of MGs, and who would, when that's the only association they have with them?
Well, the boy decided that he wanted to buy the girl a car. He convinced her of the wonderful freedoms of having an MG, so they went out looking. They found an odd little car with three, yes THREE windshield wipers, that the car dealer wanted to say were original, but the man knew his MGs and knew something wasn't right. As in, there was a Buick V6 under the hood. And those three windshield wipers, on a windshield the size of a postage stamp. And so they moved along.
But the man loved his girl, and he wanted her to have something special to cruise around in. Say, something that the top came down on, and that went vroom, vroom when it rolled. And so it was that they found this: