The Sonia Show

Writer. Mocker. Beer drinker. Old movie watcher. Mother. Goober.

License to ill

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Yeah, so, during my morning commute to work I usually spend my time drinking coffee and trying to perfect singing along to Iggy Azalea’s “Fancy,” because I am so fancy. You already know.

While stopped at a red light the other day I saw a license plate frame that said, “Don’t Kiss Me. I’ll Get Hurt.” I tried to snap a photo, but it didn’t turn out very well.


Also, please note I was not driving. We were stopped. Completely stopped. I don’t text and drive, I SWEAR. Stop judging me. Ugh. You people are the worst.

So, anyway, what the hell does “Don’t Kiss Me. I’ll Get Hurt” mean? I did some googling, because I thought maybe it was a song lyric or a movie quote that I didn’t know about. My search turned up nothing. You know what that means, right? It means people are putting their personal issues on license plate frames now.

I wish people were doing that when I was dating. It would have made things a lot easier. I would have deleted my OK Cupid profile and gotten a license plate frame that said, “My dad never tells me he loves me.” Then I would cruise around and look for a man with a “Nothing I do is ever good enough for my mom” license plate frame. It would have saved me countless awkward dinner dates and follow up emails explaining why there wouldn’t be a second awkward date.

Right now my license plate frame says, “I’d rather be eating tuna.” It’s from Da Poke Shack in Hawaii, and mighty, mighty good man David bought it because he thinks it’s hilarious that his wife drives a car with a license plate frame that says, “I’d rather be eating tuna.” Get it? Because tuna is slang for pussy, and David thinks it’s funny that his wife is driving around with a license plate frame suggesting she would rather be eating pussy. Hilarious.

What would your personal issue license plate frame be? Also, if you have any insight into “Don’t Kiss Me. I’ll Get Hurt” I’d love to hear it.





Author: The Sonia Show

I'm a writer/podcaster/mother/goober in San Francisco who likes to drink beer, shop, laugh and make other people laugh, watch old movies, feed my unhealthy obsession with pop culture, kick breast cancer's ass, go on adventures with my mighty, mighty good man David and my awesome autistic son, Calvin, wear orange and root for the San Francisco Giants, participate in general jackass-ery, talk about TV, eavesdrop on strangers' conversations, make nerdy “Star Wars” and “Simpsons” references, and post personal things about myself on the web for all to read, which makes me some sort of literary exhibitionist.

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