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I'm probably at least a year or two (or more) before being in a position to be able to buy my first car. So the idea of being gifted one is a nice thought. But the thought of someone being so ungrateful/spoiled as to complain about the colour of such a gift as the first and most prominent words out of one's mouth makes me want to punch them in the throat.
And then kick the front fender in.
I don't know anyone personally who has received such a gift.
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Knowing that death is certain and that the time of death is uncertain, what's the most important thing?
—Bhikkhuni Pema Chödrön
Humankind cannot bear very much reality.
—From "Burnt Norton," Four Quartets (1936), T. S. Eliot
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