Jars

There are way too many antique malls on Highway 67.
Like 14 too many.
Or at least that's how it seems from all the superfluous billboards.

I've never really understood antiquing.
Hey! Let's go spend money on old junk that doesn't work anymore!

You: "But Allie J! You love looking at old junk! You love thrift stores! You love retro things!"

Ah, yes, but to a point.
Thrift stores are different because I can actually use, wear, bathe with what I find there and not just perch it on the mantelpiece I don't have yet.

Except for that time I found and bought that old school wax and stamp. I just haven't gotten around to writing ballin' old school letters to anyone yet.

(But when I start, Beth, you're going to get one.)

I've never understood the obsession that people have with collecting old cars, either. It's just shoving a bunch of money into ancient parts so you can drive around town with horrible gas mileage (but you can't park anywhere because it may never start up again) and  look "cool" to about 5% of the population.

As Mike says, "I like to live in my own generation, thank you."
Yes.
Just like this.

It's just that Highway 67 has the delightful speed limit of 55, perfect for optimal mpgs, and then I have to like slow down for all these people turning into these antique malls.

And traffic does not take into consideration how incredibly bad I have to pee.

Like a cow on a flat rock,

TWS