I get it. You’re driving down Sunset at sunset, and you are thinking, “I’m feeling mighty manly and invigorated by this beautiful evening—I wonder what I should do with all of this energy?” I’m sure, at a time when I wasn’t already dead inside, I also felt that way (well, probably not the manly part). I didn’t honk my horn to get you to move. I even thought that the reason you weren’t quite keeping up with traffic, or going when the light was green could have been attributed to your awe at the beauty around you.
Particularly when said beauty raised her head out of your lap. Not that I really took much of the person in, only that she had short hair and had excellent range of motion.
I’ll admit, I was annoyed at you, Mercedes C230. And as I pulled alongside you to pass you, I may have given you the disgruntled side-eye (flavored with just a dash of bitchy).
Imagine my surprise when I noticed that the driver was actually a woman, and that the passenger was, in fact, not a woman with short-hair, but a dude.
Well played, Mercedes C230. Well played.
Context is everything.
2 comments on “To The Mercedes C230”