So on Monday, on the way to work, the muffler fell off my damn ghetto buggy car. Annoying, but not too critical, especially since my dad is a car guy and can fix it. I took my car (which is actually my dad's car I've been driving for three years) to my dad today for him to fix it, and he gave me a loaner.
But while I was there, I saw something wonderful. On blocks, in my dad's shop, was MY car. My classic red, white hard top, leather interior, more horsepower than a sixteen year old girl should've had, '66 Mustang. My sixteenth birthday present, taken away at 19 when I went to college, because my dad was afraid it would be stolen on campus. For eight years, my beautiful car has been sitting in storage. Every year or so my dad would make some mention of getting it ready for the summer, but it never moved from its place in my dad's storage shed.
But today, she's getting worked on! I might actually get my baby back! I'm so freaking excited! Except one thing. One rather embarrassing thing, that I noticed a couple of years ago when I went to sit in my car and be nostalgic. That one thing is this:
So ... I'm dieting. For my car. I think it's a worthy cause. I wore an 18 when I was driving my car before. I'm a 22 now. Two sizes isn't really that much. And since my car can't adjust, well, my flab will have to this time. I know I feel better when I eat less carby crap anyway, so it shouldn't really be difficult. Right? Well, we'll see.