I was mad, not crazy, just plain frustrated grouchy mad. Although the '86 F150 we bought two years ago is a faithful mount, it has begun to show some quirky signs. One being that the window on the driver's side refuses to go up if let down too far. Oh yeah, and they are power windows.
So I was standing in the parking lot of Carla's work in complete frustration. Why? Because in Florida during this time of year it rains every day. One finger was feverishly pushing up the power window switch, the other fisted and bludgeoning the errant door. Words escaped my mouth that, although not cursive in nature, were still filled with evil venom for that power-window gear and motor. To top it all off the air conditioning had quit a couple of weeks before and I'd not bothered to fix it.
People passed by and watched with some concern as I finally grunted and began to pull the door apart. Carla, meanwhile, stood back and watched, knowing that staying clear of the fray was the best thing to do. No words of comfort will sooth the savage beast (me) when I am at this fevered pitch of frustration. To make the long part of this story short, I fixed the window-for the third time-and grumbled about the truck all the way home while Carla sat waiting patiently in the passenger's seat for me to become less of a brute and more like the Jeff she knows normally. It took a while.
"We might want to think about getting into a newer car," she said later over a nice chicken dinner and cold ice tea.
I stopped eating for a second and eyed her across the table. "OK," I said, wondering if there was a way I could slide the fortuitous conversation in my direction. See, Scott Hoag had let me ride in the '03 Mach 1 and ever since that moment I have been hooked. Wanted one, needed one, yes, even lusted after one. But until this golden moment, I'd felt it was outside the realm of possibility. There was one caveat in her syntax that I had missed, however; it was "newer car." Not new, but newer. All of this blistered through my brain before her next sentence. I had speed-bumped over the "newer" phrase and gone right to new '03 Mach 1.
"Well, the truck is getting kind of unreliable," she said as she pushed peas around her plate. "And we need a reliable vehicle around."
"Like what?" I looked at the chicken afraid to meet her gaze because I knew that she'd know. Know that I had the hots for another Mustang. At least it was a brand new Mustang, I told myself.
"Well, what about a Windstar?" She was in a minivan mode and I; well I am never, ever in a minivan mode. So I was not ready to go that route. Even if we have kids, that won't happen. "No."
"A truck?" She looked at the top of my head.
"A Lightning?" I squeezed out a peek at her.
"Does it have a back seat?" She looked at me sideways, her green eyes dancing. I was caught in the open; my Mustang thoughts laid bare before her withering gaze. So I did what all good Mustangers do: I panicked and spilled my cards all over the table.
"YouknowwecouldgetaMach1atareallygoodrateandwe'dhaveanewcar..."
Doomed. I could see it in her eyes before it hit her pretty lips. The words formed slowly into a big, fat No.
"But...."
"You already have three, and we need something that we can carry more than four people in."
"But, it's really cool with the shaker and stuff," I trailed off. Foiled again by my own big mouth. Hey, Scott, next time try to make the specialty car a bit geekier, ok; yer killin' me, man.