(My truck is the same color, too. I call her my 'Tin Can')
My Thanksgiving plans had consisted of lying around the house reading, blogging and watching TV. Instead I spent a good proton of it running up and down I-575, I-75 and I-285.
My wife was going to visit her daughter, Dr. Amber, DVM and deliver a Futon we bought for her last night. The rest of the family had commitments in different compass directions so I would be home alone.
I chose not to go with my wife because Amber and I are both ‘A’ types and I have a difficult time convincing her that I am always right. She is just too damn smart for my own good.
Anyway, the best laid plans and all that shit…it just didn’t happen that way.
We got up early this morning and ran to Kmart to take advantage of some awesome deals for Christmas presents, then stopped off at the Waffle House for brunch. I got my Thanksgiving turkey fix by ordering a Fiesta/Turkey Omelet with sliced tomatoes instead of grits or hash browns.
Then we went home to swap vehicles. She got in the truck with the Futon in the back, still in the box. It fit perfectly between the wheel wells, but was on the back side of the truck bed, next to the tailgate. But it was heavy enough that I didn’t think there would be a problem - silly me.
About 20 minutes after she left, I got a phone call. “John, the Futon is gone.”
“No way!” says a loving and understanding husband. She said she looked in the mirror and it is gone.
So I got in the car to travel and backtrack her route to fine what ever was left, if anything. She had gone down three major freeways at 70 to 80 mph and I wasn’t sure what we would find. I only saw her once, and that was when we called off the search as she was going on to Ambers and I was heading home.
We both drove the whole route twice and found nothing. I ask her did she not see cars behind her doing evasive maneuvers or someone pulling up beside her blowing their horn to tell her the box had flown out of the truck, and she said negative to both. Finally she called asking me why she was crying over a stupid Futon. I told her, in my most understand voice, “How the Hell do I know?” Actually I told her not to worry about it. That it was my fault for not pushing the damn thing up next to the cab or tying it down. I really thought it was heavy enough to ride without restraint.
I told her I figured someone was following her in a pickup or van or something and stopped and picked it up for themselves. At least she had made someone happy on Thanksgiving.
I also told her not to worry. We had just learned a $150 lesson, and that it was okay. But not to come home ever again. Just kidding! Damn, folks! Chill!
Anyway, a couple of hours later she call and asked, “If I tell you something will you not get mad at me?” Oh, Fuck! She’s wrecked the truck.
“Did you wreck the truck?” I softly asked her with a voice I was too afraid to use.
“Okay, what?” I asked.
“You didn’t say you wouldn’t get mad.”
“Okay, as long as you didn’t scratch, bend, dent or hurt my truck, I won’t get mad.” I was lying my ass off. She was going down if she hurt my truck.
“Okay! The Futon is in the back.”
“Stop laughing!” she started to cry and yell at me.
You see, my wife is 5’2” and the truck is an F150 with a pretty high truck bed and she didn’t look over the side. In fact she didn’t even get out of the truck until she got to Ambers. The box had slid up next to the cab when she stopped at a traffic light and she couldn‘t see it in the mirror.
I couldn’t help it, I was laughing my ass off and she was yelling at me, “You had better not blog about this. I swear you had better not.”
Well, she loves me so I don’t have to worry about bodily harm, and we are too old for her to use the lack of sex as a weapon, but I relented. I told her I promise I would not post anything with her name in it. And I haven’t.