So, it’s official: we are trading the Monte Carlo, my silver beast, for a slightly dowdier but new and, um, running Cobalt. *sigh* Man, that Monte was like my girlhood dreams come true, and now I’m going to have to drive her to the dealership and fork over the keys.
I’m feeling a little disenfranchised, here, because my pick was a pretty Camaro with only two doors and 9,000 miles on her. Ah, well. Maybe in ten years I’ll actually be driving something I don’t feel like a housewife in.
Dammit, where’s James May with his shiny little Alfa when you need him?