I had to get the van repaired.  I was attracting too many men. Nothing says love to a redneck like a dirty, smashed up minivan full of sticky children.  While in the shop,  I got me a candy apple red Chevy Impala.  The plastic walnut trim just screamed Made In America. I liked the way my rental smelled.  Reminded me of vacations.  Whereas my van reminded me of rotten, lint-covered raisins.  I asked the autobody dude if he could roll new carfloor carpeting into the estimate.  Or possibly, a new car. He said he’d see what he could do.


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