A dear friend of mine, England, came over today to show off his new car—a convertible. As we were ooh-ing and ahhh-ing over it, we slowly started to be cool and get inside of it. (We being The Heartless Siren, Chillylint, and myself.) This led to England deciding to take us for a spin. Top down, we took off. chillylint and I were in the backseat... and freezing. Did you know that in the back seat of a convertible, your hair doesn't blow back, as one would expect, but rather forward and in your face? I was reminiscent of cousin Itt, I'm sure. You know your hair is bad when you step out of a car and Laser Jock comments on the disheveledness of it.
Halfway through the trip, Chillylint started requesting hills. England found one. We peaked the top and started downhill. This was among the scariest moments of my life. It started quite exciting, but the closer we got to the bottom, with the speed we were gaining, the more frightening it became. Especially with Chillylint's fingers digging into my leg. There were screams, then "We're gonna die; we're gonna die; we're gonna die." Somehow, we made it to the bottom in all one piece.
I decided today that I love the thrill of amusement park rides. I just don't like the nausea that accompanies them. Props to the inventor of Dramamine.
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2 comments:
How come my name doesn't get to be capitalized?
And, yeah...you've just destroyed my brave facade. Thank you.
Fine. Your name is capitalized. (I guess I just thought you were one of those people (like bismark) who keep it lowercase... my bad.)
Oh. And sorry.
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