A little over a month ago, we finally got the ball rolling on selling our Acura and our Wrangler to downsize to one vehicle (other than our van). The main specification was that it had to fit the five of us yet still be able to be driven off-road. We had talked about a Grand Cherokee or a Land Cruiser, but little did I know just what exactly we were getting ourselves into, or rather what I was getting myself into…
I have dubbed it THE TRUCK. Sometimes it’s even just THE MONSTROSITY. Now don’t get me wrong, I love to go off-roading–pack a lunch, load up the kids, call some friends, and spend a Saturday afternoon driving through the woods and climbing a few rocks. Brian’s version of off-roading; however, is to see just how muddy we can get the Jeep and finding the biggest obstacle to tackle in the most precarious positions. The boys’ version of off-roading is to throw rocks in the river, play in the mud, and see how many times they get to pee in the woods.
But I digress. On July 4th, Bessie (yes, I’ve stolen the name from the beastly babe in Cars until I can come up with a more suitable redneck name) entered our lives and immediately into Brian’s heart. She’s black and big and loud. I’m not quite sure how I feel when I’m sitting in THE TRUCK… I mean, with her dark tinted windows, I feel a bit ghetto, especially with the spare tire on the roof rack held on by bright blue bungee cords. But when I start her up (which I rarely do), the roar that emanates from her rear is enough to wake the dead in the next two neighboring counties. Yep, she has no muffler, only a straight pipe. That’s when I begin to feel a bit redneck.
For those of you who know me, you know just how “redneck” I am and how much I love attention to be drawn to me. So whenever we cruise through a parking lot (especially at church) with Bessie’s roar announcing our arrival, I’m ready to sink to the floor hoping the tint is dark enough to hide our true identities. That hope is dashed when I realize that Bri has his window down, sunroof open, and is waving to our friends, and nodding his head to all the yells and whistles. Sigh. I guess there’s no escape.
Actually driving THE TRUCK is always an experience for me. With its 3-inch lift and 32-inch tires, I am afraid to make any sudden movements lest I’ll roll over, crushing the helpless cars beside me miles below. So I creep down the road at a snail’s pace drawing even MORE attention to myself. I especially love to drive her on Sundays when I’m on worship team and Bri is home with the kids and the van. Picture the pink dress, perfectly coiffed hair, pearls, and the ROAR. Not to mention climbing in and jumping out hoping I don’t break my leg (or my high heels) when I land. Ahhhh, THE TRUCK. It makes me long for our van, something which I never thought I’d do (I’m not much of a van person either. Yes, I know, I’m picky.)
As much as I complain about THE TRUCK, I have to admit that I like it. I like it because it gives me something to give Brian a hard time about and hear him laugh (I love Bri’s laugh). I like it because my children delight in Daddy revving the engine loud every morning before work. I like it because I can call Brian a redneck and hear him sputter at me. I like it because it provided a need for us in so many ways. I like it because it’s a tool for fellowship and relationship. And honestly, there’s a big part of me that loves it because it’s part of who Bri is as a man–a way for him to have that bonding time with his boys and teach them about being men, too. I love it because he loves it. And yes, I admit, that baby is awesome off-road! Wait; did I just call THE TRUCK “that baby”?!
That being said, I’m still looking for a good redneck name for THE TRUCK. I’ve already gotten some great ones… Cletus, Lambert, Bodean, Cooter. Oh, and Bri needs a good CB handle (that’s his “electronic pseudonym” or “name” he uses when he’s on his CB for those of you who don’t know the lingo). Any suggestions?
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