This morning, returning from our walk in the forest, Roxy and I stumbled upon this baby.
Given that it’s not everyday you see a carefully parked Bentley in mint condition in front of a church, I asked the driver if it was alright to snap a few photos.
He graciously agreed and I secured Roxy to a pole while I captured this majestic automobile.
As I snapped away, I wondered what the bride’s dress looked like.
I mean, if she’d arrived in a Bentley, the papa of all cars, it could only mean she was wearing the mother of all wedding dresses.
I smiled as I remembered the wedding transport for my first wedding: a 1985 Cutlass Supreme.
And then I giggled at the thought that, if transport mode was to be a marriages’ success marker, then it was no wonder marriage number one had been doomed from the start.
This bride however, the one who’d arrived in a Bentley, could rest easy knowing she’d be able to celebrate her 50th wedding anniversary.
I then thought of something else and my boisterous chuckle startled the driver.
If in fact the quality of your ride determined the success rate of the relationship, what hope could I possibly have at growing old with the Significant Other?
After all, I’d driven us both to the courthouse in a Mitsubishi Mirage
Suddenly, loud barking brought me back from my reverie.
It seemed Roxy had gotten into a scuttle with a tiny Chihuahua who was hell-bent on biting her face off.
I was about to step in when a loud shriek from the Chihuahua owner interrupted the silence, “Stop the bitch fight! I said, stop the bitch fight!”
She then pointed at me and said, “And you, stop taking pictures and get your bitch!”
I stared at her open-mouthed and heard the driver laugh.
Yes, folks, that’s what happens when you place reality on hold to dream of cars your ass will never sit in.
Again, I laughed out loud at the thought that if the Chihuahua’s owner’s reaction was anything to go by, she’d more than likely walked to her wedding.
What transport mode did you use to get to your wedding?