I don't remember exactly how, but I got up the nerve to approach this creature and give her a bit of chat...then I realized something; she was a he. were it not for my keen sense to know that the lump with a lone whisker jutting out from the front of her neck, the Adam's apple, belonged on a man and not "her," I quickly looked at my watch and pretended I had to be some where...immediately.
but as you crept up to this lovely little wedge, you begin to cough as your throat suddenly tightened a bit and desperately looked for a way to cover up the fact that you were fooled...luckily, no one else is around to catch your mistake.
then you think that this 951 could also be a shade of LY1Y Mandelbeige (Almond Beige) which means that what you thought was a '90 or '91 could possibly be an '87 or '88, the bridge spoiler like the mirrors was also an "update." 'ang on a second...this shade of beige looks more like an LA1Y Kalahari Beige Metallic used from around 1985 through '86 which completely throws you off into thinking that what you initially thought was a '90 or '91 Turbo could in fact be an '86.
well...maybe this hue is a bit richer than Leinen Grau Metallic, and you can't really be certain that it's Mandelbeige because it could be a bit sun faded, or a poorly matched respray...umm. the only way to be sure it's a Kalahari Beige is to peek at the VIN and see if the 10th digit is a G for model year 1986 because you could swear that this was the last year they used Kalahari before they introduced Almond Beige in 1987.
really...so many factors can throw even the most seasoned Porschista off; from a distance. get up close, though, and things get a bit sharper into focus as you begin ruling this, that, and the other out to come to a nearly accurate confirmation of what it is and what it can't possibly be.
experience comes with time, a bit of practice, and some field work. when I can't quite be sure of something, I rely on tactility; ten years later, I was approached by a gorgeous whore in Girona, Spain and before she even said a word, I reached out and felt up her skirt to see if she had a couple of balls sharing space with a chorizo—and no, I wasn't falling for the excuse of her having an abnormally enlarged clitoris flanked by two hairy tumors.