“I Think Your Car Is Jealous”

commented the eight year old.

I looked out the front door at my old, bird poop-covered car sitting on the road.

“Yeah, right”, I thought.

Ten minutes ago in one loud rev-of-an-engine the Subaruski got displaced. Ten minutes ago the Cobra came home, coiling it’s love around the husband and eight year old like a good step mother.

Jealous? No, I don’t think my car is jealous of a freshly-conditioned ‘88 Mustang. My car is much too refined (and expensive) to be upstaged by a mere paint job. But tell that to the husband’s boys who will begin sending ‘welcome home’ cards to a car. The last few weeks have been so tense. One moment we thought the car would be ready and prepared to bring home only to be told it was a false alarm. The husband paced and stopped sleeping through the night FILLED with anticipation. The phone rang incessantly over the last three weeks by boys of all ages inquiring like expectant relatives wondering if the baby had arrived. Disappointed, the husband had to explain that these things take time, patience is important and all good things are worth the wait. He was running out of cliches when the phone call finally came.

“It’s ready”, he giggled.

“Great” I replied flatly, looking for my keys.

“Can you drive me? I’m too excited!”, he could have said but didn’t (except in my imagination).

It’s still sporting the illiterate interpretation of a word on it’s license plate, but other than that I barely recognized the ‘stang. A drop of rain slowly fell from the sky and landed on the hood as the husband dove with his hand out too late to intercept it. Obsessive much? I drove home in my car noting in the rear view mirror that the husband had thrown his body on the hood in a defensive measure against the rain -sure to make him look insane. I went to the school to pick up the eight year old. When I arrived the husband was already there.

“Did you get the car?!?!?!?” the eight year old demanded. One look and his question was answered, he immediately went into goofy boy grin mode and ran for the passengers’ side. Racing against himself, the old/new car got to the one parking spot before me, hence my car is now relegated to the road until the garage is finished -in 2010.

A neighbor walked out his front door, stopped dead in his tracks, broke into a wide grin and cheered. This neighbor is 12 years old and yes, as a man in training we witnessed the official arrival of his fully developed car gene. The husband’s voice cracked in pride.

“Yes, it’s ho-ome!” he yelled.

If there is an e-card announcing the new arrival of an old car the husband will find it. You should check your in-box for this card containing all the new-stuff-done-to-the-old-car details like year, colour, replaced parts, etc. because if you’re a guy the details will be imperative. Ask any of the same guys if they remember the details of their first-born’s birth they will draw a blank. I guarantee it.

Jealous? Of a car?