“Do you have anything fun?” I asked the man behind the counter.
“…fun?…” he echoed back, clueless.
“Yeah, you know, like that red Mustang out there.”
“Well, you’re going to be driving into a blizzard. Do you really want to rent a car with rear-wheel drive?” he replied with a snark.
What a buzzkill this guy is.
“How about the Malibu, it has front-wheel drive and all-season tires,” he announced proudly.
How practical. “Ah, you’re right,” I conceded. We went out to the parking lot, and took a stroll around the boring, white –but safe– car.
“Here’s the gas cap,” he said as he tapped the cover. (He neglected to mention that is how you open the gas cap, which would have been handy to know 50 miles later.)
He handed my husband the paper work. “Sign here, here, and here, and initial here, here, here and here.”
We loaded up the trunk, and took off eastward, into the imperfect storm, driving a boring white car with New Jersey plates.
Soon afterward, I was happy, well content, that he had talked us into the boring car:
Better to see this from a distance, than to be sitting in it!