Destroying the evidence

Until today there was still one shred of tangible evidence that I am not from Ontario. It was the license plate on my car. My incredibly dirty Alberta plate was replaced with shiny new Ontario ones, it's kind of sad.
It was wierd to relinquish my driver's license, and to get a health care with my picture on it so it was nice to still have a little bit of Alberta kicking around. Now, I have don't have an easy excuse for cutting someone off if I miss a turn because I'm from out of province and I can't use it as a way to get out of speeding tickets (not that I have...). The only good part about it is that I will no longer have strangers approach me at the Post Office asking if I'm really from Alberta (no, I stole the car and drove it here dumbass), or giving me a strange look that says 'what the hell are you doing all the way out here?' I guess it's time I admit that I live here.
My Alberta plate (you only need a rear plate in Wild Rose Country) was also the only thing that made my Buick cool. Now I just drive a Buick, and the coolest thing about it is me--and that ain't much.