Trampled Under Foot

April 7, 2006 at 1:58 PM | Posted in Journal | 2 Comments
Am I looking for trouble?  Am I trying to start something?  Do I want my ass kicked?  These are all valid questions.
I just bought a car the other day.  A guy I know who used to work at the restaurant stopped by last week and mentioned that he wanted to sell this car he had, it was extra.  I had just been thinking I would like to have another car to use just to go back and forth to work in.
I drive 42 miles one way to work.  My truck, an 01, already has 125,000 miles on it.  I would like to make it last.  I remember what I did at Domino’s years ago, which was, buy a cheap car just to deliver in, use it up, toss it in the trash. 
So when Dohn comes along with a 92 Mazda MX-3 for sale, I bite.  "How much?  Wait.  How much are you selling it for, and how much would you sell it to me for?"
"700.  For you, 500."  This is, as I have explained to you before, my world. 
I said, give me a couple of days to think about it, and I’ll get back to you.  I was all for it, then I was like, no, no–shouldn’t do it.
Then gas went up.  Twice in one week.  My truck gets 20mpg, and I drive about 500 miles just for work.  Add misc other–school, second job, things like that, you can easily add on another 200.  This car should get between 30 and 35 on the highway, which is most of what I drive.  It’ll will, in a very real sense, pay for itself with the gas I save in four months’ time.  Other important points:  It will allow us to have an extra vehicle–very important if you live far from. . .everything.  And help make the truck last longer, as well.  It is still in very good condition, but it’s only a matter of time, dude.
I was sold.  But I hadn’t driven it yet.  I did sit in it, to make sure I fit.  This is a real issue.  It’s a small car, and I am 6 foot 3.  Surprisingly enough, I actually had more headroom than I did in the truck.  Leg room?  Well, let’s just say I fit, and leave it at that.  I have short legs.  I am all torso.  And dick.
So I said, yeah, I’ll buy it.  We arrange a clandestine meeting Thursday night, when I get off of my second job.  I got to drive it, we were good, and made the transaction.  Then, he hems and haws, says, I guess I could call someone to get a ride home. . .
Ha!  I already had other plans! 
"Well, listen, Don.  If you can drive the car to my house and follow me, I can give you a ride home."  He said okay.  It was already 10:30 pm or so.  We get to my house rather late, after 11.  Looks like everyone is asleep.  We dont go in, I just park the truck, we hop in the car and I take him home.  These were each half-hour trips.  By the time we get to his house, it is almost midnight.  He takes his plates off, and I leave.
But I have to go back to the restaurant and finish closing.  I get out of there about 1:30am.  I’m on my way home, its almost 2.  I never called the wife, cause I figured she was sleeping, leave her be.  If she woke, she would call me on my cell.
Sure enough.
"where the hell are you?"
"On my way home."  True.
"Where have you been?  What’s going on?"
"We were busy late at work"–also true–"and it took longer than normal because there was no hot water again"–true as well–"and then I had to go and pick something up"–vague, but again, true.  I wanted to explain about the car in person.
I get home, its 2am.  I have to get up at 6.  I go to bed.  She’s up, she’s been keeping strange hours since she broke her foot.  One more week of the cast, I hope.  Then, I get up, and she’s sleeping, so no time to really tell her then, either.  I take the kids to school in it, after taking the plates off of our van (which has a broken axle) and putting them on the car.
So, they will probably tell her, or if she sees my truck still in the driveway, I may get THE call.
But I wanted to tell her in person because I figure it will be funnier that way.  I told a few of the women here at work, and then when I get to the part where I haven’t told my wife, one of the women changed expressions.  Her face flushed, her eyebrows raised while her eyes narrowed–try that one.  Fists on her hips.  Is this what I was in store for?  I explained to her, like I have a few times recently, that I do what I want.  Only I said it like this.  "I. Do. What. I. Want."  She wanted to grab me and shake me.  Women are beautiful when they’re angry.  That probably has a lot to do with why men do what they do.  Still, perhaps I need to lay off of that particular line.  I mean, it is true, and I do that, what I want, but, maybe I shouldn’t rub people’s nose in it.  I have to be more subtle.
Otherwise, this gift could be taken away.


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  1. so, did she try to shove her crutch up  your ass or is she resigned to the fact that you are who you are?
    lmao @ the whole "I.Do.What.I.Want."
    yeah, me too!
    funny, Bry… gotta love that humor!!!
    hugs and all that jazz

  2. then when I get to the part where I havent told my wife, one of the women changed expressions.  Her face flushed, her eyebrows raised while her eyes narrowed–try that one. 
    Yeah, I\’ve perfected that one!  LOL!  My hubby hates that look! 
    Thanks for the laugh!

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