We are on our way to Troy for H’s last SEUS Honor Band attendance. We are traveling in his truck.
Yes, I know we just bought a new car, but that’s the problem – it’s new. The truck is old – not really – but older than the car, being it is a 2011. The truck used to be the new vehicle because my old car was a 2009. Now it’s the old vehicle because the new car is a 2016. The truck has now dropped down in status. We traded in Andrew’s old, old car (aka My Mother The Car) for the new car and he inherited the old car so it’s not in the equation anymore except when H refers to it as Your Mother’s Car, which Andrew rolls his eyes at. Are you following me here? I realize it’s a story you could get lost in.
H also has an older single cab Toyota truck. We call it the little truck or the hunting truck. There is no working air-conditioning, and there is mold on the passenger seat from where his windshield leaked, but the heater works fine. He got the window fixed over the Christmas holidays. It took two days with multiple phone calls to the insurance company and auto shop. Gotta stay leak free for hunting season. The floor mats are threadbare and the dash looks like a roadmap with so many cracks. It’s rusted and battered and an eyesore in the side driveway, but H loves that truck. It was once new – in 1985.
I always drove the truck – which is a very nice double cab Toyota Tacoma – more than H did because my car got better gas mileage and he has a long commute to work and back.
Now he drives the truck to work because – well you know…it’s old.
I always seem to score the newer vehicle to drive. H’s last words as I walked out the door were always, “Don’t park next to anyone.” They still are.
It doesn’t matter if you park next to anyone or not. Someone’s going to invariably park next to you. Whenever we go anywhere H parks in the north forty. (Don’t tell him I don’t do the same). When we get back to the car, there is always a vehicle parked next to us – sometimes two…or five. In a forty acre parking lot our vehicle is like a car magnet.
H inspects all sides of the car, grumbling and checking for dings. I’ve threatened to purchase some orange cones. You know the ones. They use them on road construction. He can put a set in the trunk and then place them around the vehicle when he parks. Stay fifty feet away from the vehicle!
Last Saturday we spent three hours at the car dealership because H found a spot on the front passenger seat of the new car the night we bought it. It’s between the seat and the seat back, almost in the crease and barely noticeable. It was late. It was dark. It was raining. Leave it to H to find a spot. He called about it immediately the next morning and scheduled an appointment to take the car in to have the seat checked out..
The spot could not be removed and now we have to get a new seat cover. That means another two-hour trip to the car dealership and more hours to wait while the problem is remedied. I really could live with that spot, which will probably fade out anyway, but I don’t dare tell H that. The spot is more distinct in this picture than it is up close and personal.
It would be nice if H was as picky about the state of that room he calls a workroom. The one I’m afraid to open the door too. I guess that room is just too old to worry with.