Well, ladies and gentlemen, I can finally die happily now: I have ridden in a Corvette.
Readers of Pieces of Margo will know that I don’t give a damn about cars and, if anything, actually consider them to be obnoxious. A scourge of the earth, if you really want to know. The internal combustion engine was not one of mankind’s best ideas.
However, since I have just ridden around inside of a preposterous douchebaggy luxury sports car for the very first time, I decided to report on it.
The leather seating was too hard, and as you can see, there was no room for my legs. It’s true that I have long legs, but come on–what if I was a six-foot dude? How do people sit in this thing on a regular basis? The car looked very flashy, however, and got a lot of attention from other drivers and passersby, which, I am sure, was the whole point. Indeed, like Miss Margo herself, it was the perfect vehicle for a certain gentleman’s midlife crisis.
|note bruise on right knee, and yes that is the SEAT underneath my thigh|
|note DIFFERENT bruise on inside of right knee. Classy! Trying to carry legs elegantly in six inches of legroom.|
My wakeup call’s at 7 AM and I cannot sleep. The minibar is threatening me. I should have asked the hotel staff to remove it. I heard (too late) that they will do that for you if them to. Note to fellow people in recovery (or at least new ones, like myself): get that booze out of the room; you’ll feel better. (I have a recovering friend whose boyfriend keeps a full bar in their apartment. I don’t know how she handles it.)
|Screw you, minibar! Thanks for nothing!|
It’s okay, I will be fine. What would I get out of sucking down that $60 bottle of Johnnie Walker except a raging hangover for the train back to NYC and a depressing relapse into a lethal life-destroying dignity-stealing addiction?
Well, that was a nice reality check.
Maybe now I can get an hour’s sleep….?