Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Pimp My Ride

Dear Beloved Little Truck,

Do you remember me? Do you? Do you remember how every day I'd climb inside, dressed for work in my shift dress and triple strand pearls and kitten heels, and we'd wind through back country roads and sun-dappled trees until we were forced to get on the highway. And then we'd slow our speed and crawl into the busy metropolis of Charlotte - where you seemed ever so slightly out of place but I didn't mind because at least we occasionally intimidated other drivers with your size. Not that you were big. No. As far as trucks go, you were on the wee side. But that was ok because I didn't want to drive a big ass Monster Truck. I wanted a girl-sized truck - you know - the sort that can be driven by a girl wearing a pencil skirt and 3 inch stilletos.

Oh how I wish I'd taken a photo of you back then. In your youth. Before...before you began to undergo all of these changes.

It started when I no longer needed you daily. And I apologize for that. But you aren't suited to my life on the road. You aren't suited to 600+ miles in 4 days on Interstate-fill-in-the-blank. You aren't suited to 72 in a 65 or 76 in a 70. You are suited for short jaunts to the farm supply store to pick up hay and shavings and feed. You are suited for dump runs and hauling off trash. You are suited for life on a farm in rural NC. And so I moved on and you became the "Farm Truck." I know - that must have been a painful time for you. Feeling so...utilitarian. Not feeling the love.

But then Marty decided to spiff you up. There was talk of things like "lift kits" and "alignments." It all sounded so scary for me. Perhaps exciting for you. And then came the actual lift kit. And the giant ass shiny wheels. Only, something about the lift kit didn't align right and even driving you 2 miles to the dump on a Saturday was tricky and I'd feel like at an minute I might swerve into oncoming traffic because I couldn't keep you straight. So I avoided you as much as possible - even relying on the Blazer for the occasional dump run.

This awkward teenage phase lasted for several months. We still had the Volvo and I had my Blazer and really, you were still in your utilitarian phase so it didn't seem worth it to make the necessary adjustments. But then the Volvo lease (finally) came to an end. And it was clear you would become Marty's everyday drive. And so suddenly, you underwent a major overhaul.

The alignment was adjusted. The worn fabric interior (complete with cigarette burn holes from the previous owner) was stripped out and you got a spiffy new leather interior. You even got a spiffy leather cover for the steering wheel.

Step bars were added. Is that even what they're called? How would I know. But with your lift kit and giant ass wheels it was so much harder to climb up into you but now we can step on these little bars and get a boost. Even in a dress.

And you got something on your grill. A push bar I think it's called. With 2 little lights that make you look like you have a face. And you got a shiny ZR2 decal on the side and another shiny sword decal under the C-H-E-V-R-O-L-E-T on the back. And you got flaps over the wheels. Why? I don't know. But you did. And they seem nice and more importantly, they seem to make you happy.

And Marty set up the GPS. The GPS we Wooted 100 years ago and never did anything with. It now resides permanently in you and you are free to navigate the world at the touch of a button.

And then came the finishing touch. The roll bar. The 100+ pound roll bar which was delivered by an 18-wheeler. With those 2 lights that just stare at me from behind your cab. They seem menacing.

And suddenly - my wee, little, beloved truck is no longer wee and it is no longer mine. You are all grown up now. You are a big, scary-ass, totally pimped out truck that frightens me just a tad. And that's ok. These things happen.





And please don't be embarassed by the mud splatters. I know you would have preferred to be clean and spiffy but let's be honest. This is more in your character. Because big, bad boys like you aren't afraid of a little mud. And I am pretty sure you'd be horrified by the thought of someone applying tire gloss.

So revel in your bad-ass glory beloved truck. You deserve it.

Love,

Country Girl

And if that ain't country, I'll kiss your...

3 comments:

kyooty said...

Time for a MUD Run!!! yes I'm amarried to a man that will take a dodge caravan out into a mudrun!

harmzie said...

I was kind of washed over with a feeling of "I LOVE that!" Then I smacked myself and said "no you don't! You mock that!". But then I had to admit that no, I actually love that.

I'm very complicated.

Linda said...

Marty did a great job! Does he want to pimp my Z? LOL