Today is Monday; not a Manic Monday (even though I wish it were Sunday), more of an I-don't-have-to-run day, so just another ho-hum Monday.
Living in the desert, I wouldn't have this problem because I'd have a genuine, straight-from-the-Seventies dune buggy! Job, no job, constipation, incontinence; all worries will roll -or blow- away as I jam from Dune A to Dune B in style!* As Rhett Butler said prior to ravaging Scarlett O'Hara for the fifteenth first time, awwwwwwwwwwwwwww yeah!**
Contrary to what's been implied by friends across the globe (to say nothing of the picture above, even though I just did, sort of), pink would not be my first choice in colors, but a gal's gotta do what a gal's gotta do, and this gal will take whatever she can get. I should also note that I need not be the sole occupant of said vehicular device; far from it, in fact, since that would be uncouth. Equally vulgar would be hiring a driver because the dune buggy itself is mine (all mine!) and the greatest pleasure is derived from being the wheelman, not a passenger. In other words, hit the showers Pradeep.*** I've got this covered, though on second thought, before that ten-second splash of water hits your body you could earn your pittance by constructing a robotic companion for my whimsical jaunts!
Why a robot, you ask? Well, that rocket launcher ain't gonna launch anything by itself.
* Speaking of jammin' and stylin', it's a toss-up as to which song, Panama or I Wanna Rock, is to accentuate the dune buggy's maiden voyage. Suggestions are welcome.
** I endorse not what transpired, but the enthusiasm applied.
*** If you live in the desert, it's only natural to hire a Sri Lankan handyman to attend to all -and I do mean all- one's needs.