Trofy Wif(e)

So I was leaving my neighborhood Harris Teeter not too long ago and was sitting at a stop light, when I noticed the vanity license plate on the car in front of me: “Trofywif.” I don’t know about you, but when I think trophy wife, I don’t think Nissan Altima. Clearly, I had to see this chick, so I followed her for a little while and she pulled into another shopping strip. Not surprisingly, she was not a trophy I would display with pride. After she went into some store, possibly a tanning place, I whipped out my iPhone, rolled down the window and started to take a pic (see above). She came running out the door she had just entered, screaming at me.  She sounded like John Kruk after a carton of Marlboro Reds. Not wanting any part of this broad, I peeled a wheel and got out of there.  Something tells me if, and that’s a large if, that lovely couple was educated, it was about an hour east of Raleigh.