Trucks n Stuff

I love trucks. It's one of those weird, seriously, Bekah???? random facts about me.

So you can imagine my joy when my little 3rd grade ears heard my dad announce he was getting a truck. OH the vision in my head.

What he brought home was a 1976 two tone green Ford monstrosity of a vehicle that I lovingly named The Pickle.

Years later he declared it was time for an upgrade. I was ecstatic. FINALLY. A real truck. Until he rattled into the driveway with the 1978 truck I dubbed {for obvious reasons} The Raspberry. It was a fine piece of machinery, what with its gun rack and NRA sticker in the back window. {Those of you who know my Dad are laughing right now. Please continue. It's warranted.}

Ryan has a truck.

My handsome hunk of a husband has a truck. Oh be still my beating heart.

Except there's no need. I think the beating heart of the truck has already been stilled.

Old Trusty. {I misheard the first time. I thought he said Old Rusty.}

One HUGE selling point about Old Trusty {OT, from here on} is that he's SO much newer than the Pickle and the Raspberry. OT is an '85 Chevy S10 with scads of character.

Take a read:

* When you sit in the cab, you could just swear the exhaust pipe is feeding directly in behind your seat. I {cough, cough} mentioned that perhaps {cough, cough} it was a bit strong {something to say for the girl who thinks Sharpie should make a candle...} and Ryan answered, "I don't know what you're talking about!" {As he simultaneously rolled down the window for some fresh air.} {In February.}

* As we backed out of the driveway, I heard the BEEP BEEP BEEP ala trash trucks....oh yes. OT has a backup beep. WATCH OUT, BABY! HERE COME THE SHAFFERS!!

* He turned on the windshield wipers and it was as though a jar of Vaseline had descended upon the glass as the wipers skidded across.

* As we went down the interstate at 80 miles an hour...{that's not in print if you're a cop reading this}...the hood teetered left to right at an alarming rate. I asked if this should worry me, and he said, "ehhhhh, never been right since the T-bone." {Not a steak.}

* The headlights, also victims of the T-bone, are cross-eyed.

* The gas gauge, allegedly, never registers more than 1/4 of a tank, even when completely full.

* The driver's side door requires a slam of Richter-scale proportion just to be sure it stays closed.

I am sure I have no idea why this was not the vehicle he drove to pick me up for our first date.

And I'm also sure my destiny in life is never to have a "real truck." Just fruit trucks and my BFF...OT.