Born every minute

I did something last week that I hadn't done in a good seven years --no, it has nothing to do with the unwanted hair in my ears -- I bought a new car. OK, not a new car. Only suckers buy new cars. I bought a Certified Pre-Owned Car.

To be able to swing that I had to trade in my old car, the one you see pictured above. Upon seeing my old Lexus for the first time, the dealer went into great detail to describe his disappointment with the vehicle.

"Wow, this isn't at all like you told me over the phone. It's pretty ratty. The leather's all beat up, there's lots of scratches and dings, the car definitely looks a lot older. I don't even know if I can sell this rust-bucket." (He didn't actually say rust-bucket, I just like that phrase.)

You can imagine how surprised I was to see the car on their internet listings the following day.

You can imagine how even more surprised I was to hear it described as, "super-sharp, well maintained quality luxury automobile." And sporting a price that was well above what I got for it.

The dealer is probably is on the lot as we speak. Telling a prospective buyer that this creampuff was driven once a week to church by a little old lady from Pasadena.

It kills me to know I'm that little old lady.