I know what you’re thinking: Mama, you drove a Rolls? Maybe two? No, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not THAT pretentious. But the other day, I had a bizarre experience, one that can only be told through the magnificent, multi-million-dollar vehicles that I witnessed in four hours. Only in LA, you say? Amen…
White On White, Baby!
I was on “vacation” (that’s what they call it when your kids are on Spring Break and you shuttle them out of town to keep yourself from spontaneously combusting) in Orange County. The morning we drove home, we stopped at Starbucks. Duh. That is where I saw the First.
It caught my attention because this poor woman was struggling to find the keys, the keys to her half-million-dollar ride. OH THE HORROR! Part of the problem is that she’s carrying an equally pretentious handbag that is big enough to transport 10 kilos of cocaine. I mean, white is her signature color. Then we moved up the coast and on to lunch, which featured:
This is a terrible, awful, horrible customized Rolls. A black and white cookie, they tell me on Instagram. Cruella De Ville. Oreo, we all refrain. Yes, adorable. But let’s get real. Anyone who thinks that this is an acceptable thing to do to a $350,000 car has a real problem. Therapy is calling.
Then, finally, I got to LA. To Topanga, my sweet, relaxed, unpretentious little mountain town, until I realize I’ve forgotten to buy a birthday present for said kid’s BFF, and I boogie down the hill to, where else, the mall. Where I see, what else, a Roller:
But Wait! There’s More:
Then I get out of the mall, as quickly as possible, and what has replaced that Rolls? Yet another.
What? That’s a Bentley? Who cares. It doesn’t make the whole scenario any less ridiculous. I love Rolls Royce. I love Bentleys. I love Nordstroms. But not half as much as I love LA! May she stays crazy forever.