So, I bought a car. We finalize tomorrow morning. I go get myself a certified check from the bank, get my plates off Weta, and zip zip, off to the dealership. One of the very kind salesmen (who lives nearby) is going to pick me up in the morning. By noon, I should have a 2003 Galapagos Green Honda Element EX. Gas mileage? No where near as good as Weta. Nifty factor? Same area. Carrying capacity? Heh. Above and beyond, my friends, above and beyond. Home Depot, watch out! I’m coming! And this time, lumber won’t have to stick out the shotgun window!
I’ve already notified my sisters, my best friends, and my mother. And, ykno, my flist. Everyone else gets to find out when I actually have the car. Not that I think anything will go wrong, but ykno, actually taking possession of the car is going to feel mighty nice.
Taking possession. Sounds like a case in need of exorcism. In fact, no. Just a case of having to find a new name. What shall we name the new (er, ykno, new to me) 2003 Galapagos Green Honda Element EX?
My oldest sister has already voted on her favorite. “The Green Goober” I think not.