That's right, Brougham
I have always felt like someone who should drive some old, beat-up car. Preferably a GIANT one with loose steering, rusted paint, and no rearview mirror. Well, it has finally come to pass. The absurdity of my life is now reflected in the absurdity of my car. I am the proud new owner of a 1987 Chevrolet Caprice Brougham. Purchased for $75 from a 36 year old virgin with an apartment messier than mine.
Assuming it breaks down less than my last car, I can now do any of the following: go to the grocery store whenever I want, be the last person to leave the party, be the first person to leave the party, buy full-length mirrors, drive to the wilderness on the spur of the moment, visit any and all of my friends who had a kid in the last year, put junk in my trunk, get stuck in traffic, flirt with guys who work at places with "lube" in the title, take people to the airport, flee.
But there is no way I will be able to parallel park.
Labels: how I roll