Apparently, cute boys in convertibles wearing trucker caps and sunglasses don't like it when I blast Dolly Parton from my mom's minivan.
They especially don't like it when I start serenading them with extra drawl.
I must remember this for next time.
No wonder I'm single.
Here lies a most ridiculous raw youth, indulging himself in the literary graces that he once vowed to eschew. Now he just rocks out.