It happened again.
I didn't want it to.
But it did.
And there I was, standing in the middle of a showroom floor, surrounded by high end cars and smarmy men wearing matching polo shirts, and wishing I was anywhere else. The corvettes gleamed, blue ones, yellow ones, convertibles and coupes, all waiting to be purchased, driven, cared for and buffed to a high-gloss shine.
Harry lovingly stroked the hood of a bright yellow Z06 and, while I stood, feeling like a bull in a china shop, he asked to drive one.
Ten minutes later we were given a white corvette that was very un-Z06like and told to "have fun." As soon as I slid my hefty butt into the car I knew that "having fun" was not going to be achieved. The car smelled. It was like someone threw up after drinking one too many Pina Colodas and the coconut-vomit smell still lingered. As we pulled out of the lot, the smell seemed to intensify as a new annoyance presented itself.
The gear shift rattled.
This poor car, with 8,000 miles on it, was now a sensory assault weapon.
Twenty minutes later, we arrived back at the lot and I rolled out of the car, both hands on my throbbing head.
"How'd you like that?" The salesguy asked. "Pretty smooth, huh?" I shot him a look that should've equaled instant death but was deflected by his teflon-like coating of smarminess.
Needless to say - I will not be looking at any cars for some time.
Which, for those of you who know me and my husband, should equal out to about a week or two.
:) Hope everyone's weekend is going better than mine!