It’s 2008, right? Is it not 2008? Well then how is it that, while we were driving up to San Francisco for a little weekend getaway, we were tailgated by a Saturn with a car bra? You know what I’m talking about. They’re those uber-lame pleather sheaths that people with bad judgment strap onto the front of their cars, hoping to protect their precious car noses from god knows what.
What these people are trying to achieve with their car bras, I cannot fathom. Are they looking to lift and separate? To keep their car noses looking new? And what’s so special about the nose? What about the rest of the car? Oh yeah, it turns out there’s something that protects the entire vehicle quite nicely; it's called a paint job. And unless said paint job boasts an image of a sunset, it can protect the whole car without announcing to passers-by that the driver is insufferably cheesy.
What I really can’t figure out is why I got so mad at Captain Car Bra in the first place. It’s not like this guy confronted us in the Quizno’s parking lot and forced me to put a car bra on my car. Maybe I’m just mad because I’m forced to look at the stupid thing when he really doesn’t even see it from where he's sitting. Or maybe I’m mad because not only is this bonehead allowed to blow $85 on a stupid car bra for his Saturn (I Googled it), he’s allowed to waltz freely about the planet and vote, pro-create, or even drive a moving vehicle on the open road – all activities that beg for some modicum of judgment.
I guess I’ll just have to keep suffering in silence until the glorious day comes when we can all stand together and burn our remaining car bras.