Tim's shiny new truck is sitting in the driveway. It's up on jacks, and he's waiting for some parts.
Truth be told, it kind of pissed me off to see it when I pulled in the driveway after work a couple days ago. We've got an old truck already. Two of them, actually. Three if you want to count the one he's got stored in the garage of...
Okay. We will stop counting because it really does irk me.
Anyways, I got out of the car and said to Tim, "What's wrong with the truck?"
He began to list parts that are on the way.
Using the severe tones of a wife who has tried to make this point for going on 24 years now, I said, "Tim, why do you get things that need to be repaired? Honestly, we spent a lot of money on a truck that you were so tickled with. You loved this truck. This was your retirement truck. Now I've got another truck ripped apart in the driveway."
He stood there with the look of a man who has heard this for 24 years and still doesn't understand. "But I do love this truck."
"But TIM...." I said with an impatient wave of my hand in the general direction of the torn apart truck.
He spoke in the exaggeratedly patient tones of a husband who's been trying to explain this point for going on 24 years now. "This truck is perfect. The bodywork has all been done, and it will last forever. Mechanically, it needs some tweaking, the clutch and there is something wrong with the steering, but this truck was made before they computerized everything. There is not one thing that can go wrong on this truck that I can't fix myself."
To be fair, I have heard that before.
I stopped complaining and went into the house and started supper.