The woes of trading my DC car with my grandma's PA car
I have always had an idealistic, optimistic belief in the altruistic power of government to do good things for its people — if not today, than someday, as a goal toward which we strive — the likes of which earns me totally deserved skeptical eyes from my friends, but if anything has the power to rip off my rose-colored glasses and crush them under the heel of its steel-toed boot, IT’S THE DC DMV.
A police officer called me over to his car as I was walking from the parking lot into District Court today. “You’re with the DA’s Office, right?” he asked. I wanted to answer, “Was it my Target dress covered by an Ann Taylor Loft sale rack jacket attempting to pass for a suit that gave it away?” I didn’t, but I suspect the answer is yes.
At (my summer) home (my parents’) tonight, I remarked happily, “Oh! The Nats beat the Braves!” and despite the fact that my (permanent) address is in DC now, and the Braves are the Phils’ biggest rival, I was met with shock, dismay, and cries of “You like the Nat?!” and “You still like the Phillies most, right??” from the family. You can take the girl out of Philly…
(for the record, I answered both incredulous questions in the affirmative)