Now, put it away, please.
There's a tiny side street in downtown Bethesda - just a block long - right off Wisconsin Avenue. It's home to a 7-11 on one side and some craptacular little "luxury" apartments on the other. I looked at those apartments once - the one bedroom, with chipped, awful parquet flooring, was the most claustrophobic living space I'd ever encountered. The sleeping quarters were not large enough for a bed and a dresser. The entire flat only had one small closet. When I asked if there was any additional storage in the building, the young woman from the rental office laughed nervously:
"Ahah hah hah... well, ahah hah... no, there's no more storage, ahah hah hah, but you know, if you have more stuff than would fit in this unit, well, then you have too much stuff, ahah hah hah... then, you're not living, you're just collecting, ahah hah hah..."
Ahah hah this, chickie - for $1650 a month, I want to be able to walk between the sofa and TV without turning sideways. Ugh.
Tonight I stopped in at the (non-Hellmouth) 7-11 to get a lottery ticket. Lord knows, I could use the cash right now. As I pulled in to the tiny lot, I saw him: a studly youngish man pacing back and forth in front of Chez Merde Luxury Living. Stud Boy had a Maserati. A very nice, metallic grey, brand spankin' new Maserati.
And Stud Boy needed to be seen. Oh, great jump-roping jeezus, did he ever need to be seen! Why he was parked at Chez Merde, I will never know, but this is the hilarious part: every single time a pedestrian walked by, he hit the alarm and posed in front of the car. When the ped was gone, he turned the alarm off.
I was fascinated.
I sat in my car outside 7-11 for fifteen minutes, just to see how many times Stud Boy would work his alarm magic.
10 times in fifteen minutes he turned on the alarm and posed for passers-by! (In between, he'd rub at imaginary smudges on the car - at one point, he hunkered down with his back to me, and I had the unfortunate view of his buttcheeks poking out of his jeans. Thanks, Stud Boy.) It was, all at once, hilarious and sad. Very sad. One woman walking into the 7-11 looked at him, rolled her eyes and giggled to her companion, making the universal monkey spank-wank gesture.
I assume someone in the apartment building finally complained to the police (I would have been dumping crap off the balcony onto his hood after the fifth alarm 'n' pose, frankly.) A patrol car showed up, and Stud Boy, his head hung low, sadly got in the Maserati and drove away.
Now, I love a nice, fast, expensive car as much as the next fool. (I think I'd be utterly uncomfortable in most of them, but that's besides the point - they're cool-looking!) But here's the deal - if you buy a $120K car, and you're just trying to show it off to commuters stopping for a Slurpee and a MegaMillions ticket, you just should have your keys taken away from you. Plain and simple. You're quite possibly too stupid to own a mega-luxury sports car.
Ah well. Maybe he was just getting his confidence up...
Godspeed, Stud Boy. May you find greener pastures to display your manhood! Might I suggest the new row of uber-high-end shops in Chevy Chase? There's a spot between Louis Vuitton and Jimmy Choo with your name on it.