When I was growing up, we had a 54. I hated it. It was ugly, and hard to park. Of course then, I never "pawked" it I was too young. Our's had the optional "Continental Tire Kit" which my father cussed every single day he owned it. This is not our car, it's a photo off the www. It IS however, exactly like ours.
And of course, "a story."
Our car had a bad right rear door, so that door ALWAYS remained locked, closed. As the eldest son, it was my job to get out of the rear left, and hold the door for whoever was in the back seat
One day in March we got home from church, and I dutifully held the door. My sister slid out of the seat, jumped flat-footed on the ground, and splashed mud all over my only pair off good Sunday shoes and trousers
Now, I had heard "this phrase," probably from my father, and "this phrase" simply ROLLED, poetically, rythmically, effortlessly off the tongue. "This phrase" was absolutely gorgeous.
I had no idea what it really meant.
So I stood there, mud all over my good clothes, and I looked at her, and I said "that phrase."
"Well, you little bastard."
So of COURSE I got spanked, and sent to my room, and NO FRIED CHICKEN for dinner!!!
I REALLY hated that car!!!