I drive a 2000 Chrysler Cirrus with which I have a sort of love/hate relationship: I love it when it runs, and hate it when it doesn't. Unimaginative, you might say, and perhaps a bit unfair; it's been a great vehicle, and has only started to cough and stutter a bit now that the odometer crossed the 100,000-mile mark. Contrary to popular opinion, it is a shade of red (not purple...I don't care what you people say), and is not a "grandma car," as certain English majors who will go unnamed have commented.

My car is many things, I suppose. However, what it is not is a party wagon, mobile birthday, or exercise in spontaneous celebration...or, at any rate, it wasn't until the other day.

While at work on that fateful evening, I did espy two normally docile and decidedly non-criminal acquaintances of mine: fellow bloggers Jillian and Kylie. They were unusually unresponsive to my jibes and catcalls, and, as they waved their noncommittal greetings whilst ambulating from the premises, I had the distinct feeling something, as they say, was up.

I happened to walk by my car about, oh, ten minutes later, and what do I find? A prank in progress, that's what. Kylie was blowing up balloons (an activity for which she is well-suited, being full of hot air) and tying them to my antenna, while Jillian was doing her best to suffocate my poor vehicle with kitchen-use rolls of saran wrap.

Incredulously, I ask, "Uh, what are you guys doing?"

Their reply: "Pretend you didn't see and come back later."

To which I assented. I returned after about half an hour (they were really into it), and found what can only be described as an abomination. The worst part? They forced me to pose for pictures in front of my car, which they had humiliated, and yes I realize how crazy I'm going with the Italics.

I'm not sure what else there is to say about it...just look at the picture. Kylie and Jillian were not even able to provide me with a reason why they had decided to decorate with extreme prejudice. I can only chalk it up to the inherent insanity of English majors.

That being said, Jillian, I know what you drive, and I know where you park...and I, unlike you, have access to industrial-strength rolls of retail shrink wrap.

Be afraid.