It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice. Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive. Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water. ...

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And just reading it made me shiver with cold. Brrr …
(It didn't help that the heating is off at the office today, yet the aircon is working. We're all in coats and scarves while the engineers try to sort it).
Old Blue was my father's car, and it truely was scary. He loved the thing and had one of his union buddies paint it this horrific bright blue, and then he made me drive it to school. I was a laughing stock. People would say, "Did you see that blue car in the parking lot? Who would drive that?" "Why, I don't know," I would say. "Some idiot."
Christine belongs (belonged) to you?