Patrick has a stupid truck. It is big, I have to jump to get into it, I nearly sprain my ankle trying to clamber out of it, I once backed it into a pole at a gas station, and it is the highest of high maintenance.
But I do look pretty bad a$$ ridiculous when I drive it. Really though, the perfect combination of feeling like I’m super cool and turning heads, and looking absolutely absurd with my curly bobbed hair, bumping his system.
Stupid Truck is currently taking up space in my driveway and space in my life, since it couldn’t go up a hill and got all busted. I thought a prerequisite for trucks was the ability to go up hills, but apparently not this truck or that hill. Stupid Truck is sitting on lift things, no front wheels, trying to get fixed. A 2 hour ordeal that has turned into a 3 day ordeal.
Stupid Truck is going to find a new home very, very soon. And I won’t miss the headaches it has caused. But we’ve had our good times. Mostly involving the heated seats and my perpetually cold backside. And a few speaker busting singalong sessions involving us and some truly horrendous pop music. I never thought I’d be the girl that actually liked sitting above everyone else in the kind of truck that makes you preconceive every notion you could about the driver’s personal traits, but I’ve rather learned to love it. So soon, Stupid Truck, I’ll bid you a farewell, and it may even be a little fond.