Why I love Mercedes
I'm buying gas on my way home from work. No big deal, watching dollars just pour into the gas tank.. $10.. $20... $40... knowing that in two days this ritual will be repeated. My wallet, the lamb. My car, the slaughter.
Turning, I slide into the driver's seat only to catch a glimpse of some old(er) man shuffling by and checking out my rims, and shimmery freshly-washed paint. Then we make eye-contact. He smiles, then points at me, then himself, then his open mouth.
I leave him with a smirk, cruising back onto the freeway lamenting the loss of Sirius.
~~~
Who needs a boob job, when after 6 years with the same car, men still hit on you / make in-appropriate gestures?
Turning, I slide into the driver's seat only to catch a glimpse of some old(er) man shuffling by and checking out my rims, and shimmery freshly-washed paint. Then we make eye-contact. He smiles, then points at me, then himself, then his open mouth.
I leave him with a smirk, cruising back onto the freeway lamenting the loss of Sirius.
~~~
Who needs a boob job, when after 6 years with the same car, men still hit on you / make in-appropriate gestures?
Labels: mercedes
posted by donnad at
8:07 PM
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