It is beige, smells like a pack-a-day smoker lived in it for two years, and is approximately the size of my entire bedroom. It has buttons to switch between "CD" and "radio," but no way to actually insert a CD. And -- the crowning insult - THERE IS NO CUPHOLDER. Which may sound like a silly insignificant thing, but try making the seven left turns between my house and my office one-handled whilst balancing a boiling hot paper cup of coffee in the other hand -- you will end up with very little coffee to drink at the end and many many burns . And yet, the twit at my insurance company has the nerve to tell me that this Ford Sofa is "certainly comparable" to my sporty heated-leather-seats-sunroof-six-disc-changer Volvo - how do they teach them to lie so convincingly like that??!
(Yes, I realize I sound like a total spoiled brat -- but, actually, it's more that I'm feeling profoundly unsettled in the aftermath of this whole accident thing, and my sweet little car was kind of my safety blanket -- without it, I feel all wee and naked and very, very unsafe.)
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