There's a button, nestled snugly amongst the dials and levers and meters, on the dashboard. A uncontrollable control panel. And it has no label, this mystery button. All the buttons and buzzers and bells that surround it are worn smooth by the ridges of my fingerprints. Weather-beaten and care-worn. But, the mystery button remains fresh and pristine. Like a ripe kumquat. Or a new pair of shoes. I fear it. The mystery button. El boton de misterio. It's mystery is the source of it's awesome power. Perhaps I will cover it with masking tape, and mask it's wrath. And cover my temptation.
N.B. This is not a convoluted metaphor for female sexuality – there really is an unidentified button on my car's dashboard.
And it preys on my mind.