Chevy

57 Chevies. Several of them. But not 57 of them.

We had a 56 Chevy when I was a teenager. Fine car. Except the radio speaker was mounted facing the front seat passenger. If you had the volume set so the driver could enjoy Rock & Roll, the passenger was blasted. I drove that car on my first dates.

When I was quite a bit younger, we had a 51 Chevy. Again, I'm off a year with the shirt, which has 52 Chevies, but hey ...

I fell out of the 51 Chevy once when the door came open as we went around a corner. I remember being there in the street wondering if my mother was going to drive off and leave me there. She didn't.

Seat belts are a good idea. I was probably young enough that I would be in a child seat by today's standards. Don't let people tell you everything was better in the old days.

It's sunnier today than it was March 30th, and I'm getting better at taking pictures of my shirt.

Maybe I ought to find my tripod, instead of just balancing the camera here and there and making do. Even that is an improvement over holding the camera in my outstretched arm, as I did for the 52 Chevy picture.

I want a shirt with hamsters on it. Platypuses.