Dear Small White Car,
We have to stop seeing each other like this. I just can't take it anymore. It's not personal, but sometimes in a relationship one party has to move on, or move aside, in your case.
As I cruised down the highway this morning, there you were again, impossibly thin tyres and sagging suspension, weaving down the middle lane at a whopping 70 kms. Your driver, a smallish man with terrified eyes and a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel, looks like he qualified for his lisence back in 1920, perhaps in some third world country where the preferred mode of transport is something slower. Like an Elephant, or maybe a sloth.
What are you doing in front of me? and how do you know when I am out on the roads? Every single time I go out, there you are, dwadling along, forcing traffic to part around you. It's like you are Moses, parting a sort of Muscat style Red sea.
Overtaking is of no use, because no sooner have I overtaken you, there you are in front of me again! How the hell do you do that? Do all white cars come standard with Star-Trek type teleporters, along with seventen hanging air fresheners and pre-bald tyres?
Please try to understand, it's not about you, it's about everyone else who's way you are impedeing. Please, I am begging you, small white car, Move over into the slow lane.
P.S. And do something about that suspension.