I have this hot car fantasy that just won't go away.

Oddly, it doesn't involve a Porsche 911 and an autobahn. Nor an Audi TT on the Pacific Coast Highway. Not even -- in what will come as a shock to many who know my "Mad Men" fixation -- Don Draper and a 1963 Cadillac Eldorado.

No, I daydream about downshifting off Ford Road and wheeling my own 1997 Escort to the apex of the crescent-shaped drive at Ford Motor Co.'s Dearborn headquarters, eagerly awaited by a huddle of senior managers and designers. In my vision, they cluster avidly around the little purple sedan, admiring my ingenious rock-chip touch-up job (Sally Hansen nail lacquer in amethyst "Flair") and anxious for a spin.

I graciously oblige, anxious to show some of the world's top car mavens why nearly 13 years have elapsed since I last toted my checkbook to a dealership.

Instead, I've babied this Escort through 183,606 miles, including two timing belts (the first decided to fail during that never-to-be-forgotten 98-degree rush hour on Chicago's Lakeshore Drive), an alternator, a leaky radiator, cracked vacuum hose and a broken tie rod. It's enjoyed dozens of oil changes, three sets of tires, a fresh battery, exhaust pipes, various filters and a new water pump. I even installed the satellite radio system all by myself.

There's a cigarette burn on the rear seat, a gouge in the vinyl from a garden hoe and some ugly-looking rust bubbling up on the outside window frames. The right rear window never really has worked and the fuel gauge froze five years ago; now when the trip odometer hits 300, I head to the nearest gas station.

Other than that -- and not to jinx anything -- the workers at Wayne Assembly can be proud of their little plum-hued offspring. The 2.0-liter engine purrs, even at below-zero temperatures, and up until last year I was still getting about 35 miles to a gallon of 87 octane.

Frankly, it compares pretty well to Hertz's brand-new 2009 Ford Focus I drove around Texas two weeks ago. After 800 miles in the young machine I thought I'd be pining for a permanent new car. Were there differences? Sure. You didn't need a microscope to read the clock, and the trunk was deeper. The colors were prettier and the rear-view mirrors easier to adjust. But many of the same old flaws persisted, and there sure wasn't $16,000-plus worth of contrast between the old paid-for Escort and the gleaming new model.

If I really could chat with a bevy of auto execs, here are some of the things I'd beg for in a small car:

• Style: Give me the sporty, buggy look of the TT or vintage Karmann Ghia instead of a mini-sedan some frugal retiree would drive to Bingo. The upcoming new Fiesta doesn't count -- it's perky rather than sultry and disturbingly Escort-wagonish.

• Utility: Try changing a headlamp bulb or an air filter -- even my small hands can barely fit these parts into place; how do others do it? Design these consumable components for people who don't run to a dealer for every little fix. Make sure vacuum cleaners can reach all cracks and crevices and let me choose floor carpet dark enough not to show stains.

• Interior amenities that reflect real-life solo commuting; make that passenger seat into a convertible command station: Purse holder. Pouches to hold file folders, sales circulars, a folded newspaper. A mini white-board for reminder messages and a pull-down writing surface for longer jobs. A fold-out bin for garbage and recyclables.

• Safety belts that don't cut across the carotid, extendable pedals and/or a seat that elevates itself. Twelve years of small-car evolution and I still can't see over the steering wheel without a $7 cushion from Wal-Mart?

The wish list doesn't end there, but you get the general idea. For now I'll keep my cash -- and my clunker.