This is Why I Can’t Have Nice Things

My car is getting on in years.

broken-down-carIts skin has faded splotches of color; it has a strange assortment of creaks and grunts; and it doesn’t have the get up and go it had. (Ironically, it’s an allegory for me.) I’d like to purchase a shiny new one, but despite all the improvement in auto technology, they have still not come up with a way to remove car payments. Should they do so, I’d be so johnny-on-the-spot at the dealership, you’d think I drove a Bentley Continental GT Speed with 616 horsepower to get there.

Putting aside such fantasies, and since I drive to many of my engagements, and am leery of using my auto, I rent. I don’t need anything fancy; if it has cruise control, I’m good to go.

Upon arriving to pick up my car for this trip, the attendant informed me that I received a free upgrade.

“Would you like the luxury car or the sporty car?”

With 12 hours of driving ahead of me over the next two days, a luxury car would be nice. However, the increased cost in gasoline — as well as my inner teen — veered me to a tricked-out, metallic-charcoal-grey 2014 Mustang. Said inner teen was revving higher than the tachometer as I pulled off the lot.

As mentioned, my only real requirement is cruise control.

It saves wear and tear on my lower body, and by setting it for the speed limit, saves wear and tear on my wallet. This way, I don’t have to worry about speeding tickets, which I have not had in about 25 years. (You know where this story is going, don’t you?)

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There’s Nothing Worse…

I am not a snob; anyone who meets me would agree.

snob manWell, except those of an obviously lesser bloodline, of course. But, who cares about them anyway?

Having placed that firmly on the table, I know I can be, um, shall we say, “particular” about certain things and at times, might be prone to splash myself with a faint — very faint — scent of curmudgeonly, especially around speaking and writing.

As illustration, this is the second month of the year, pronounced “Feb-RU-ary,” not “Feb-U-ary.” Should you doubt, you can find out that I’m correct at the li-BRARY (not the “li-BARY”).

I manage to keep my mouth about “Febuary” because one only has to deal with it for 28 days a year.

Yet, lasting seemingly in perpetuity is misuse of  “your” and “you’re.”

The former is possessive while the latter is a contraction for, “you are.” Therefore, one would not write, “Your looking thin,” nor “I love what your doing with the house.” One might however write,

“When you’re on your way over, please let your hosts know if you’re bringing your children.”

See, isn’t that nicer?

Finally can we clarify that those of us on diets are attempting to “lose” weight, not “loose” it? (Ironically, “loose weight” is usually what started us on the path to “losing weight.”)

However, the expression that causes my head to explode is the self-important exaggeration, “There’s nothing worse than…”

This rose to my awareness on a TV commercial for an on-line postage service. In touting its (not “it’s”) benefits, a gentleman exasperatingly laments, “There’s nothing worse than standing in line at the post office.”

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