Of Truck Lifts and Hubcaps. And Sleepy Children.

Last night, with kids finally all in bed and a bowl of orange sherbet in my hands, I snuggled myself up to Mike and his open laptop. I was unsurprised to find the screen covered in trucks. Not ordinary trucks, mind. Trucks with lifts. Cool trucks. (Or so I’ve been told.)

“Look at this,” Mike said. “Wouldn’t it be cool to do this to our truck?”

“Yes,” I agreed. “So cool.” But my eyebrows raised and I smiled up at him with a shrug that admitted to something different.

I don’t actually see the cool. I don’t fathom the cool. It’s not that I doubt the cool. A truck with a lift. Cool. . . . Right? It’s just  I don’t have the slightest idea what is cool about it.

Still, faithful wife that I am, I rallied my attentions – pretending to an understanding over lifts that were too high, mm-hming over tires that were too big . . . or too small, nodding at trucks that were just right. Knowing full well I could never repeat later, were Mike to test me, which were clearly wrong, which were just right, and which were too much or too little . . . anything.

“Hey,” I said, trying to add something worthwhile to this exchange. “I still don’t really get the deal with tires and rims. What part is what? And what are hubcaps all about?”

After a conversation explaining that the rim and the wheel refer to the same part, the tire is just the rubber, and that hubcaps are meant to cover up boring steel rims (and are totally not hip), Mike ended by saying, “. . . like our van. It just has plain steel wheels.”

“Oh,” I said. Then, with confusion, “So, why doesn’t it have hubcaps?”

“It does.”

“Ohhhh . . .” I replied sheepishly. And, after a pause, I added, “How lame.”

Mike nodded and patted me with a “well-done” sort of smile and said, “Yes. It is lame.”

The End

(Was that too abrupt? Should I have offered some reflections on marriage? Some thoughts on supporting one another’s interests? That would prove tricky. I’m not thinking any of those things. I like marriage. I like Mike. That’s about all I’ve got. You’ll have to do your own reflecting . . . on marriage . . . or, maybe, just on truck lifts. You choose.)

Oh, wait. This is cute. After we had exhausted the trucks and wheels topic (if that is even possible) and Mike had nicely helped me steristrip my fresh and rather bleh looking foot scar, I went up to check on little sleepers and discovered this:

Goldie, fast asleep – headlamp on and a pen still clutched in her hand. Her last written word in her little gratitude journal? “. . . and”. Poor tired little soul.