If I Were My Car – Another Week in Tweets
That very funny lady at Single Slummy Mummy is Tweeting this week in the guise of her daughter. Never one to overlook an opportunity to make a tit of myself, I’ve decided to assume an alter ego too.
Having recently got shot of my very boring Ford Focus (yeah, I know they’re good cars, but I always hated it), I’m in the first throes of romance with my new Nissan Micra. I took some selling on it, believe me, but the USB port, integrated sat nav and electronically folding wing mirrors got me going and quite honestly, they’re bits of tech I could afford on no other car.
Anyway, it’s shiny black with contrasting, curvy cream patches on the grey dash and cream coloured upholstery (I know, I know) and as far as a Nissan Micra can be sexy, well, this one is. I love it to bits. Sorry – “her”. All cars are female, of course.
I wonder what she makes of me?
So in the guise of my latest love, here is my week in Tweets.
Kinda like this new home. That’s the third time I’ve been washed in as many weeks! And carpets brushed too? Is this love? #lovemymicra
Baby, I may be a Micra but I’m black, I’m funky and you can push ALL my buttons! Ok, stop it now –you’ll wear it out #lovemymicra
Kids? No one said anything about kids! How long will the “no eating in the car” rule last, huh? This is cream upholstery folks #lovemymicra
So embarrassed. Black Eyed Peas full blast with open windows? She’s 43. I’m a Micra. Let’s get real! AND a bird crapped on me #lovemymicra
A dog? Are you freakin’ serious? Have you SEEN the size of my boot? First flush of romance is over, seeds of doubt creeping in #lovemymicra
Bird poo still stains my door. I smell of wet dog and fish and chips. And I caught her sighing over a Fiat 500. Is it all over? #lovemymicra
I have a name! Black Betty. Now I know I’m for keeps. Maybe she’ll even figure out how to use the sat nav one day #lovemymicra
So there you go. I hope she likes me too, but it’s best if she doesn’t get her hopes up too high. She’d have done better to hold out for a blue-rinsed granny, pottering sedately between Women’s Institute meetings and the Bowls Club, but if she can live with my frantic to-ings and fro-ings, I can live with the shredded street cred and the fact that I’ll never exceed 25mph on hills again.