Birthday Girl Loses (it)

I thought it would start later, for some reason. The lying awake, the worrying, the semi-unreasonable spazzing about trivial and inevitable things.* Suffice it to say the first of the annual birthday hassles arrived this morning: I received my new license plate. I didn’t mind the old blue ones, really, but as I am against shelling out for one with a bridge on it all, “Hey! Michigan has two bits! A top one, and a bottom one! So there’s a bridge!” inspiring New York and San Franscisco to chortle at our quaintness, I opted for the new plain white design. Eh; it’s just as boring, but in white. It’s actually quite similar to the Ontario license plate (maybe we’re being molded into one giant mothercountry?) and it was free, so, whatever, and I would only be bitching about the inconvenience of installing it with my frozen fishtick fingers in the current single-digit weather—except that, with the new plate, I got a new number. It’s not the numbers themselves (which I’ll never remember anyway) but the letters, to whit: BGL.

I dunno. Maybe it’s my own personal associations, but I see VHM as more jocky, angular, svelte letters, whereas BGL are more portly, LAN-headset-enabled, Magic-the-Gathering-playing sort of letters. I don’t have a problem with that, if that’s their gig, but they’re sort of advertising my ride. It used to say fast and fit; does this plate say bottom-heavy and socially inept? I don’t really want that splayed all over my bumper—especially since it’s totally true. I can’t wear that shit ironically if I know how to swear in Klingon, you know? You’re a Jet all the way. It’s one more bump on the road to thirty, and casts an auspicious shadow over the new year. For instance, is this the year…

Beedoo Gets Lucky?
Beedoo Goes Lesbian?
Boys Go Loco? (as a result of my newfound lesbianism, natch)
Bombs Get Lobbed?
Bougeoisie Grow Louder?
Buboes Gain Lustre? (eew)
Barnacles Garner… Lichens?
Bush’s Grudge Legalized?
Bi Gay Lesbian (see above)
Big, Gelatinous Legumes? (i.e. the year I go veg)
Books Get Launched? (WOO! I love you, DMV!)

The acronyms are a moo point, since we know that’s just for my benefit when recalling the plate to the cops when it’s stolen. We really read license plates as words:

BaGeL (who doesn’t love a good bagel?)
BuGLer (you know! Like… and… I don’t know any buglers.)
BurGLe (like a thief in the night)
BoGgLe (I’ll kick your ass!)
BeaGLe (my dog—it’s not pathetic if it’s accidental)
BunGLe (Officer, I can explain…)
Bad GrrrL (So feminist, it hurts.)
BanGLes (Drive Like an Egyptian.)
BiG Legs (the visual joke being that I’m 5’4”)
BuGgLes (Video did kill the radio star, after all. Oh, and I’m old.)
BrrrGLeeeeeah! (common vomiting noise)

I don’t know why it bugs but it does. I guess only the homeless thrive on change.***

* Aging. Looking like you’ve aged. Dying. Dying legacy-less. Roots. Grey hair. Sagging body parts. Sudden reactions to common chemicals, like sugar. And caffeine. Switching to decaf. Buying a porche. Buying a pool boy. Buying a Malaysian baby.**
** I’m sorry, it’s time for my Estroven.
*** Beedoo Gets Lighnting-bolted (straight to her toasty suite in hell)


Alena said…
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