Since I have been full of whiney, self-pitying posts lately, I thought it about time I confess to one of my guilty pleasures. Don't judge me too harshly.
I like to (shhh, quiet now) drag race P platers along Footscray Road. Well not just P platers, but they seem to be the main ones drag racing along there.
The best bit is when you see these two guys, or carloads of guys, in their hotted up hot cars and I am along side them, being all girlie-girl in my purple Festiva (egad, half the chicks in the Westies have purple Festivas.. if i had known that I would never have bought one, I hate being a stereotypical Westie chick.. next thing I will be hanging out at Highpoint wearing a cumberbund as a skirt and those ugly suede boots and, god knows, ugly footwear makes my soul bleed).
Anyway, I am there being all girlie-girl, purple car..blah blah blah.. and then the lights change and I floor it while those testosterone-charged fools are still revving at each other.
I sail off leaving them behind, weeping like little school girls in hand-me-down dresses.
Yes, I know. Not exactly mature, responsible behaviour. So. Put a stick up my arse and call me a hoonsickle.