Can’t fathom why I even bothered to point the Impreza toward the car wash today. Sure, it was nice out and I wanted to get the accumulated salt off, but the driveway back to my apartment is a quarter mile long, and even though it’s supposed to be graveled, by this point in the winter the paving is more theory than reality. Thus, by the time I got home, my Sube’s cobalt blue flanks wee seemingly even more intensely spatterd than before I left. More proof, if proof be needed, that those dang mudflaps ($50 factory option) are completely ineffective above the belt line. Of course, it doesn’t help that I can’t ever seem to restrain myself from trying to pull a rally-style four-wheel drift around the horseshoe bend that leads to my space in the back garages.
So, another pointless $3.00 wasted on my personal vanity. To ease my conscience, I’m actually trying to convince myself that the lurid mud streaks give others the impression that my innocuous little wagon is a big, bad turbo rally machine. Bit sad, aren’t I.
Oh, you wanted to discuss NCAA men’s hoops. Sorry, next thread over.