The Porsche

Due to circumstances beyond my control, but primarily involving having a third driver in the house, I had to take my husband’s big-a** truck out of town the other day.  My daughter and I have been doing some back-to-school shopping for her and some reunion shopping for me…25 years…ugh…and definitely a post for another day.  Anyway, our local mall pretty much sucks; luckily, though, we have two great malls about 20 miles in either direction, and on this particular day we were heading south.

I know what you’re thinking…20 miles…no big deal.  And, really, it’s not, except when you’re driving your husband’s big-a** truck.  You see, the truck is really meant to carry a heavy load…and no, I’m not talking about me!  I’m talking about our camper.  When the camper is on the truck, it’s all smooth sailing; however, when it’s not, it’s nothing but rough waters.  Seriously people, parts of your body shake that you didn’t even know existed!  

My daughter and I giggle our way through the bumpy ride and arrive at the mall unscathed (well, except for a bruises here and there that we both agreed not to talk about).  Now driving the truck on the freeway is one thing, parking it in a mall parking lot is quite another.  Because my skills in this area are lacking, to say the least, I go out of my way to park, well, out of the way.  I find the farthest parking space I can, park in it as carefully as I can, and off we go. 

Our shopping trip is relatively successful…and I even have a couple of funny stories that involve Spanx and four-inch heels that I’ll share with you another time…but for now let’s just fast forward a few hours to when my daughter and I return to the truck.  We are about halfway there when I notice something that stops me dead in my tracks and causes me to send my husband the following text:  Oh my gosh, the nicest Porsche I have ever seen in my life is parked right next to the truck.  I hope I don’t hit it!

Well, you know those people who are tethered to the phones?  You know, the ones who have it in their hands or somewhere on their persons at all times?  Well, my husband is not one of those people (thank goodness).  In fact, his normal text-response time is anywhere from, oh, about 30 minutes, to, oh, about never.

Imagine my surprise when, about half a second after I hit the send button on my text, my phone rings and it’s my husband!  I could have texted him that I was having a heart attack and he wouldn’t have responded that quickly…but since it involves his truck, well, he’s all over that now, isn’t he?!  (I know, I know, if I were having a heart attack I wouldn’t have been able to text, and I know, I know, at my age I shouldn’t even joke about something like that, but you know what I mean, right?)  Anyway…

I answer the phone and he’s laughing and he says, “Hey, I just finished my meeting and what’s this about you hitting a Porsche?”  I laugh back and say, “I know, right?  What kind of dummy parks a Porsche next to a pick up truck?”  Mind you, our pick-up truck is very nice as far as pick-up trucks go, but it’s a pick-up truck for crying out loud…and it’s huge…and it’s got heavy doors that no matter how careful you are they sometimes just get away from you.  I mean, I wouldn’t even park my old mommy mini-van next to our truck at a mall…and this guy (or gal) parks a $70,000+ dollar car next to it.  I mean, come on, use your head Fancy Pants Porsche driver!

I know I’m making much too big a deal out of it, but I really am shocked that, with all the empty spots available in that lot on that particular day, the person driving that Porsche would park right next to our truck (seriously, it was a very, very, very nice, brand-new looking Porsche, and it was a very, very, very empty parking lot).  Then I go from being shocked to being miffed.  I mean, the onus is now on me to NOT hit that Porsche, which I’m guessing even a mere fender bender will cost more to fix than I make in a year!

My husband and I share a few more laughs about the intelligence of this Porsche driver and then he says, “Well, I’m sure he thought a man was driving.”  I laugh a little bit and then say, “Wait a minute, you mean you think the Porsche driver thought a man was driving the truck…meaning if he thought a woman was driving it he would never have parked so close?!”  And you know what, I can’t even be mad at him for this lovely bit of sexism because you know what?  He’s right. Now wait ladies, before you get mad at me, let me clarify, he’s right where I am concerned.  In fact, if Mr. (or Ms.) Porsche driver knew that I was the one driving the truck, he (or she) would have parked at a different mall entirely!

For the record, I carefully backed out of that parking spot, carefully drove away from the  Porsche, and ran smack dab into…a Yugo…ha, ha, ha, just kidding, but I am happy to report that no vehicles were harmed in the removal of my husband’s beloved truck from that parking lot!