I think I’m allergic to first dates

I awoke this morning anxious to go pick up my new car.  I knew it was just waiting for me to arrive at the dealership, caress it tenderly and abuse it in all the right ways.  I knew this because 15 hours previous, I had been at said dealership, however they decided that 6pm was an acceptable time to close a RETAIL LOCATION.  Idiots.

I showered and shaved, eager to hop in Terry’s entirely-too-loud Mitsubishi Lancer to ride the 16km to the Saturn location and greet my brand new baby with loving arms.  Of course in being so eager to see my new car, I forgot that when bringing any kind of blade near your throat, attention is key.  Being that mine was elsewhere, I soon learned what it felt like to have multiple slices of skin mysteriously vanish from my neck.  For those of you who are wondering: it doesn’t feel so great.

I didn’t care though; I was getting my new car.

We arrive at the dealership, just in time for the dealerwoman to show me every possible feature on the car.  I’m pretty sure had I not stopped her and told her that I did indeed know what “door handles” are for, I might have been there 5 hours later.  I finally kicked her out of the passenger seat (she was showing me how to use the OnStar system – FYI, OnStar fucking rules) and I headed home where I was to await the call from the lovely Ms. Chiara, telling me that she was ready to be picked up for our first date… A trip to Banff to go picture taking together.

<to be continued…>

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