My Husband's 65 Olds (standard:humor, 862 words)
Author: Josie	Added: Nov 06 2003	Views/Reads: 3728/3	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Monologue of a wife regarding her husbands love of old cars, and her love of her computer.

I never watch television any more. It seems so tame. I can't sit through
a whole program to save my life. I try sometime, but I just can't do 
it. My mind is on my computer. I'm thinking about what I could be 
doing, where I could be going, what stories I could be telling. 

My hubby talks to the back of my head. Sometimes I hear him
subconsciously, and I answer, “uh huh”. By the time I realize he has 
actually spoken to me, and turn around to listen, he is gone. Oh well, 
I know he'll be back. He was probably just complaining about the tree 
again, anyway. He hates trees that drop stuff on his car. 

Don't feel sorry for him though.  I spent the first forty years of our
marriage, trying to get a conversation going.  He is either watching 
TV, or out dusting his car.  He is a man of expertise in the art of 
short answers, and he never accepts a difference of opinion, from 
anyone. You are WRONG.  He can't hold a conversation, he holds a 
monologue of his opinions. He could write a book on opinions. 

He becomes very upset if Speed Vision changes its schedule, so that he
misses an episode. He loves his car, a classic, and he considers 
himself an expert of classic cars. At the moment, he owns a ‘65 
Oldsmobile dynamic, 4-door hardtop.  That is the way he describes it.  
You have to say the whole thing. 

No one is allowed to touch it. Cats come from the devil. Birds leave
their calling cards, but don't dare stay to visit.  In a parking lot, 
he is one of those that takes up two parking spaces so no one will bang 
the car with a door or basket. He got a Disabled Person parking tag to 
hang on his mirror. Those parking spaces are extra wide.  He loves 
them.  No one will chip his car with their door there. 

I found out a few weeks ago that he is secretly looking for another car.
 He wants to trade my car for one. The other day, he was talking in a 
joking manner about it to our son, so I didn't pay any attention. But, 
he came in the house one day after that, and said he'd talked to 
someone about an old car, and they wanted to look at mine. 

"No!" I told him. "I am keeping my car. I like my car. My car is
faithful. It takes me where I want to go, and it gets me home bravely. 
If you want the other so badly, you can trade yours for it!" 

Oh, shoot! I have to find and hide the Title! If he would wait for a
couple more years, mine will be a classic, then he would just be 
wanting to buy it back. 

To get his mind off of trading my car, I figured he needed something to
do. I went to the nursery and brought home some flowers to plant. 

I told him, "Get the shovel, dig a hole, and stick it!" 

He has been planting flowers for a few years, since his retirement. I
try to only get the ones that are tough though, because he knows 
nothing about flowers.  He will water them to death. “Well, they were 
dry.” he says. 

"Un huh." 

My son went out to a bird farm, and picked up all their old bird cages,
and little bird houses.  Old, rusty, and in need of rejuvenating, just 
like my husband. 

We were hoping he would jump in, see the potential,  go get some paint
and make them pretty again.  Sounds good to me.  But no, they are still 
lying out in the corner of my yard, piled up. 

I said, “You could paint little flowers, and birds on them.  You could
put artificial flowers inside, a plastic bird on the swing, and hang 
them from the tree limbs." 

No, he isn't interested. 

I wonder if I suggested painting it as a garage, and putting little Hot
Wheel's inside, he would go for it? I even have a set of four inch tall 
gas pumps sitting on my entertainment center that I would be thrilled 
for him to take outside and do something with. 

"Well, what about a computer?" I asked him. "You could go to the W.W.W.
and look up classic cars." 

"No. It's not the same as touching them. I would rather go to someone's
junk yard, or back forty. I talked to a guy who knows a guy who has a 
'36 Ford in his garage. It's just sitting there, rusting away, and he 
won't sell it, it makes me so mad to see these classics just rusting 
away." 

So, not being able to trade my car for another, he takes his polish and
rags, and heads back to his car, smiling. 

Now that I have succeeded in getting him out of the house once more, I
head back to my computer, smiling. We both seem to be doing exactly 
what we want to do. Ah, compatibility, you have to grow into it, it 
takes time.


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