The Corvette: When You Want to Brag, Who Needs Legroom?

     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….?

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