Disney Trip #2 Chapter 1.35

Because I can't ever stay on track, I'm going off the "plot" to tell you some stories about cars. Shhhh. Tits totally painless. Mostly.


Maybe it only happens in my house. Mr. A kindly bought me the minivan of my dreams. He drives our crap vehicle. The one that you need two feet to drive, even though it's not standard shift. And the windows only work some of the time. I appreciate his sacrifice for my princess-like comfort. But apparently, an inspection goes on that I don't know about. As he comes in the house he "notices" our van. He's checking for damage. Every day.


The other day he walks in to the kitchen where I'm happily dancing the jiggler around. Big smiles.

He says, "There's a ding in the van"

No response from me, still smiling, less dancy, trying to pretend like I'm listening.

He tries again, "There's a ding in the front hood."

Me ~"Maybe it's from the storm the other night? A tree branch or something."

Him ~"No."

How the hell does he know it wasn't a tree branch? Coulda been. What is he the Columbo of the dings?

Him ~ "Looks like a rock."

Here he throws in a pregnant pause. Full of accusation.

Me ~ "Huh, you think the storm kicked up a rock?"

Silence from Mr. A. Then, the grilling stare. Like I'm in an interview room down in the precinct. He adds the always pleasant eyebrow arch.

Isn't that sumthin? Does he think that I wouldn't notice a rock banging on the hood of the van while driving it?

Need I mention that he has been driving the van both times we had damage to my princess mobile? Blew out the back window backing into a ladder and was at the helm when a actual rock hit the actual van and exploded out the back window (again)?

No, I won't mention that.

Granted, the women in my family have a crappy car history. Locking keys in running vehicles. Arriving to a lunch date in two cars leaving in one and forgetting about the second car. Until the next day.

But my sister has the worst stories of all. I was a passenger for one particular story. She was driving her spiffy Ford Feastiva. 


In the middle of the road, there was about a three foot high pile of manure that must have fallen off a farm truck, hay sticking out of it. Sis is doing about 55 miles per hour, headed straight for it.

Me (all calm) ~ "What ya gonna do about that pile?"

Her (all calm) ~"I'm going to put it between the tires."

Holy Crapamoly! Ever see a Feastiva? I have worn Maxi pads bigger than that car. I was sure we were about to launch Duke's of Hazards style over this giant pile of ****. I had to watch though. Couldn't believe my eyes. Like seeing a snake try and eat an elephant.

Boom, we hit. God Bless that little car, it didn't go airborne. But the grinding noise of the grill eating that mound of crap was alarming. Thudding and smooshing over it, my sister refused to let up on the gas. It was fun seeing my Dad's face when we pulled in the driveway. Her car always smelled like poop after that.


Needless to say it wasn't me. The ding. I blame him.

What did I say was up next last time? Retirement Jail, G-pa's 90th, More food poisoning ala chicken and more biting bugs? and of course "Princess Down, I repeat, we have a Princess down!"




 

3 comments:

  1. Thanks for the tip - I'll avoid large dung piles w/ my lil' Chevy Sonic. And yeah, the ding, totally his fault.

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  2. I love this post! It reminds me that all the dings on our truck happened when my hubs was using it.

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  3. Don't men have a style all their own? When my hubby is questioning something, say for example, Why are the lights on?. He asks, "Who left the lights on?" Like, there's you and me, babe. Oh, I forgot, perhaps he things the dog or one of the cats transgressed.

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