I am finally seeing a doctor for my allergy issues. I've been ignoring a sinus infection for a while because tending a head garden is like a hobby for me. Okay, not so much. But it's usually fairly tolerable and also inevitable, thanks to a heavy helping of my father's genes. At least I don't always have that clear drop of fluid suspended from the end of my nose in the summer time. That might look okay on a guy, but it is so not haute couture for ladies.

I've realized that any semblance of mental health on my part demands a car. I always knew that I really enjoyed driving, but now I realize I enjoy the womb-like security of the enclosed space. (Am I creeping you out yet? Because I can totally crank it up a notch.) Perhaps I simply need to rent a car periodically. The conversation with the car rental agent would go something like this, except in French:

Me: Hey! Have you got any vehicles available this afternoon?

Agent: Sure. What were you looking for?

Me: Basically, womb-like security. I don't really need to drive it off the lot. If you could just point me to something parked off by itself, that should be fine.

Agent: Right. So the zero-miles plan would work best for you. But I suggest you purchase extra insurance. Because my job is to talk you into needlessly spending money to protect yourself from highly unlikely eventualities. Remember, just because you don't actually leave the lot doesn't mean something terrible can't destroy the car and your future.

You can probably tell I've rented cars before. What you can't tell is that the current state of my French language comprehension leaves me impervious to the usual car rental insurance pitch. Vive l'ignorance!