FMMFTAL

Imagine, if you will, a femme fatale.  My guess is you have come up with something along the lines of a Pulp Fiction/Kill Bill Uma Thurman hybrid.  Or every version of Catwoman.  Or those mysterious black and white photos of smoking women from the 40s.  Probably a tall beautiful woman emerging from a luxury car with a business suit and heels so high I would cry out in pain the second my fat foot hit the ground, but little do you know her lips are full of poison and/or she has a loaded gun in her briefcase.

These are all acceptable versions of a femme fatale.  A femme fatale is sexy, and trouble.

A femme fatale drives a new Mercedes or Lexus, maybe even a Tesla. 

A femme fatale does not drive a Saturn.  Even if that Saturn is a V6.

I recognize that this car is driven by a real person, I know because I saw her at the gas station.  I do not want to say anything insulting about her appearance.  I will only say that I never imagined that a femme fatale would be in her 60s and wear Shape Ups.

Maybe it is an inside joke?  Maybe she really does feel like a beautiful bad girl, and if that is the case, I actually applaud her.  Get on with your bad self, Nana.  However, most people do not delve deep into the imaginatory realms of what could be, or is, or is not.  Most people look at the sad woman driving a sad car with FMMFTAL on the plate and laugh at her.  That hurts my feelings.

Stop hurting my feelings.

Knock it off, your car makes you look stupid.