Note to Self: Blind Boys Don't Care About The Color or Style of Your Car

I went to pick up Drew the other morning. Because of my accident I've been driving my family's minivan. It's green-ish, taupe-ish, and very economical and middle-aged looking. It was either that or my brother's motorcycle, and since I was deemed "unable" to drive the bike, I got stuck with the mommy-mobile. (Actually, in our family it's the daddy-mobile, since Mom likes the Cadillac, and my dad is very self-sacrificing.)

Anyway, I'm driving through town, ruing the day that I neglected to learn how to drive a motorcycle, and feeling incredibly mature and matronly- emotions I can only attribute to my vehicle.

I pull into the Viars.

Drew clambers in. It's much easier for him to get into than my little compact and he exclaims, with incredible awe,

"Whew! Court! You've got a sweeEEt ride!"

I'll have to let my father know... He's got a "sweeEEt ride."