Doug and Elijah

I drive a black 1997 Ford Ranger. His name is Doug.



Doug and I have been together for 6 years, since August of 2001. He is getting a bit old and cranky, now. The speedometer is off by 5 mph, the gas gage is permanently stuck on E, the CD player and the air conditioner have gone the way of the dodo, getting into reverse can be a bit hit or miss and despite his love of speed, he hates going up hills and complains if I ask him to speed up enough to pass someone.

He forgives me for feeding him the cheap gas, forgetting to change his oil as often as I should and leaving it up to Mother Nature to wash the dust from his hood. I guess he thinks road trips, exploring back roads forgotten by the highway department and taking corners on 2 wheels is fair recompense.

Unfortunately, as much as I love Doug, I have a feeling he is only going to be with us for a couple more years. At the car dealership today with Dad, I decided to glance around and see what is available. I'm in no hurry to replace Doug, but it's good to have something in mind in case the worst happens. It would be just like Doug to drop his engine right in the middle of Fort Worth.

I found one of those trucks that have a sort of extended cab, not the ones with the little seats that only those who don't care about their circulation can sit in, but just a couple extra feet behind the seats for storage. Sort of thing I would appreciate while traveling, so I wouldn't have to either stash my stuff in the bed or cram it in the front seat. I've noticed that if I put it in the bed, it rains. If I stick it in the tool box, that one thing I need is always where it is hard to get to and if I cram it in the front, not only is it claustrophobic in the cab, but that one thing is inevitably on the bottom.



A wandering car salesman wanders my way and after explaining my reasoning, hits me with - y'all guessed it - that the truck wasn't really big enough for kids. Ignoring my glower, he continued on, telling me that I could always stick the baby bag into the back area and the car seat in the front with me, but that sort of thing really wasn't recommended.

I smile - okay, it was more of a snarl - and told the dingleberry that my children had four legs and did not like to travel, that my friends knew better than to trust their precious progeny to my daredevil driving and the day I choose to live my life according to the whims of the rest of society, I would find a nice cave and become a hermit!

The guy is spluttering, probably more from shock than anything else, because I don't look dangerous and I flounce off. Dad asks me if everything is all right and I tell him the next time his car breaks down and he needs a lift, to give me more notice because lack of caffeine is making me bitchy*.

*Actually I said I was being difficult, not bitchy. Cussing around my dad is just asking for a nice chunk of nasty soap.*

xposted

This just in, a friend is now sending me pics via email of his brand spanking new nephew. His wife is a fence-sitter when it comes to having kids, but my friend definetely wants them. At the moment, though, he seems to be channeling his energies into his niece and nephew. happy days.