I'm not qualified to operate this body.
It's not the Dawn-mobile I originally learned to drive. That one went from zero to out-the-door in fifteen minutes. It was sleek. It cornered like nobody's business. The paint job was flawless: no puffy eyes or wrinkled thighs. The engine purred, getting along just fine on the cheapest fuel. This one demands gym memberships, yoga classes, chiropractors, and chemical-free, sugar-free, 100% whole wheat. It leaks oil (extra virgin olive). There are dings in the bumper. It makes embarrassing noises.
It's only natural time has transformed me from a hot rod to a rusty beater. However, for the safety of others on the road, the authorities ought to require a drivers license for the body I've ended up with. Then again, maybe not. I would definitely fail the vision test.