I may have an inline on a car. I’m not sure. I’ve gotten my hopes up before. Shopping on a budget ain’t easy, campers.
I identify myself as a feminist but I swear that I have asked two men to marry me over the weekend for just a couple of days so I wouldn’t have to deal with the creepiness quotient. I inquired about one vehicle and the email back to me was and I quote: “Wut U LOOK like?”
Umm, all righty then, I don’t think I want a meeting with you champ. I should have said I looked like my new girl crush, Michonne, and that he could recognize me when I walked in with a katana.
“Hey dude, I’m the bad ass chick with the two zombie pets with no arms and broken jaws on chains who is holding a sword. That’s what I look like, asshat.”
Another guy added a grand to a vehicle that went $900 bucks over Blue Book value. Umm, no. Just, ugh.
Guys, I hate car shopping. I hate it with a thousand hates fueled by emphysema coughing demons on Red Bull.
One guy offered to not marry me, but to wear leather and look menacing. I appreciate anyone who wants to look like they are on Sons of Anarchy to be my henchman. Another one is a former Vols player who is nearly seven feet tall who said I didn’t have to marry him and that he could growl if needed.
This is of the good.
Honestly, I wish my dad was here. He knows things I don’t know.
Anyway, I’m looking at a car on Thursday with a man I know, which is good. He isn’t a psychopath so I will chalk that up to at least a possibility to become a car owner again.
Anyone have a Xanax?