Apparently Virginia is the national capital for vanity license plates. Indiscernible letter-number puzzles to express one’s [individuality/personality/vanity/stupidity]. For those who don’t believe in bumper stickers, but still have a message for the world. And the most plentiful accumulation of such individuals is in the same state as me. Great! I already hate driving.
The first close encounter I had with a vanity plate driver was a former girlfriend of my brother. She was blonde, Quaker, allegedly better than the rest of us non-Quakers, and had the license plate ‘Brat III’ (I think that’s what number she was). Fantastic work brother of mine. At least she had the first letter right.
Since then my opinion of vanity plate drivers has not received much rehabilitation. Seriously, if you’re going to defile your car in such a permanent way what is wrong with bumper stickers. Fast, effective, cheap, and you get to send more than one message. “Keep Honking, I’m Reloading”, “Charlton Heston Is My President”, “Horn Broke, Look For Finger”, and other fine gems. But with vanity plates you get “MMYS RDE”, “IT PHD”, “DNT H8”, and other stupid messages. [Okay, I admit, I kind of enjoy the “DNT H8” plate].
All this changed yesterday. The vanity plate drivers of the world were rehabilitated in a single sweep. [Maybe not the former girlfriend]. The idiocy of the world had found a redeemer. DNT H8 had a new friend. My wife and I were leaving the mall in the less economically viable area of the city. Parked three cars down from us was an fantastic older version Cadillac DeVille. My wife believed it could belong to an older individual. I knew better, and I was proven right when we walked closer and looked down at the license plate. There, in all its shining glory, my new favorite vanity plate: “THE POO”.
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