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Next Saturday, Carol and I will be attending her 50th high school reunion in Yonkers, N.Y. My role will be her dutiful arm ornament. As jewelry, I’m closer to the kind left unclaimed in a pawn shop, rather than glittering off the wrist of a NY socialite. Plus Carol was the head cheerleader for her high school (Carol insists she was never the head cheerleader, but she’s not telling this story, I am). Which means expectations could be high for someone like a Johnny Depp or a Michael Douglas to be draped around her. I can do Randy Quaid, or with dim-lighting, maybe a Paul Giamatti in a stretch of credulity, but my guess is some form of “looks were never important to me,” will find its way into introductory conversations.
Do you have any idea how many silver Prius’s there are on the road? At one point over the past months, I started to count how many I saw. There were more than two hundred over a few weeks.
Mike drove a silver Prius. He loved his car. He bragged about the mileage he would get.