By Heather O.
I have figured it out ladies. I know what all men what. Yes, the secrets of the universe have been revealed to me, and I am now ready to impart my wisdom to you, O goddess sisters.
All men, in their heart of hearts, want a truck. You know, a truck to haul stuff.
I thought it was only my husband who longed for this powerful thing. He has jokingly talked about a pick-up since the days when we lived in Arkansas. He said it would make us blend with our other white trash neighbors. I told him that we didn’t need a truck, the dilapidated van we drove that had the paint peeling off, scratches on the side, and a side door that fell off just as I was pulling into the driveway and which sat on our front lawn for a day was quite enough to help us blend in, thank you very much. And the 2 days the toilet sat in our front yard definitely helped dispel any remaining doubts our neighbors might have had about what kind of people we were. Yep, only quality people use appliances and car doors as lawn ornaments.
Anyway, I thought it was a joke, really. I mean, a pick-up is not exactly a family friendly car, and gas prices being what they are, what the heck do we need a gas guzzling monster filling up our driveway?
It wasn’t a joke people. We now own a truck.
But here’s the astonishing thing. Even though this truck is like a thousand years old, and, as my cousin put it, “A bit boxy”, DH loves it. But he’s not the only one. My brother said, “Hey, you got a TRUCK? Where? I wanna see it!” And he and my nephew hightailed it outside to check out the truck. And you know what they said when they saw our cheap, ancient, boxy pick-up?
And they meant it.
I visited my parents this weekend, and my mother, who said, “You can’t drive this thing. You don’t know how to drive a truck!” when we brought it home, has kind of resigned herself to the fact that her youngest daughter occasionally drives around in an automobile that can also carry 2 cubit yards of dirt (I know that because DH has already filled it with dirt, many times, to haul it into our garden. Yes, he’s a man obsessed). But Mom is clearly not thrilled about the whole thing. Plus, she honestly thinks the truck is ugly as sin. My dad’s reaction?
And he meant it too. He even said it twice. This is a man who thinks camping is another term for torture, who has never been on a pair of skis– snow, water, or otherwise– in his entire life, and who thinks badminton is an exhilerating sport. The most indoors person I know. He likes the truck.
Our neighbor is thrilled. He said, “Yeah, we wanted to haul some dirt in for our garden, but I didn’t know anybody who had a truck. But now that you’re here…you know, I saw you all pull up in that thing, and I thought, ‘Yes, a neighbor with a truck!’”
And of course, you know what followed after that.
Cool truck indeed. The men in my life are going crazy over it. It’s the strangest things I have ever seen, and yet, it seems to be a completely consistent reaction among the male species. Their secret desire. To move big piles of stuff from one place to another in a big motorized vehicle. Who knew.
Anybody need to haul some dirt?
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