I’ve never had a car statue—for that matter, here in New York, I don’t have a car, which pretty much moots the issue of how much inverted irony my life can stand. But my co-blogger Sally Thomas spends hours and hours in the car, and I’ve finally found the one she needs: St. Expedito, of course, since her driving is like the driving of Jehu the son of Nimsh, for she drives furiously and needs some intercessory expediting.
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