I have done some dumb things in my life. Depending on one’s perspective, this monster I am leaned against could certainly qualify as residing somewhere in the top ten. There was nothing “sub” or “urban” about this 1983 restored Suburban. On the scale of city living decorum, this beast fell well off the spectrum for the proper manners required to live within the confines of the town limit sign. Living in the buttoned-up Cary, NC community at the time, one can imagine the horror that fell upon the Prius family who sidled up to me at the traffic light. Dual exhaust that made quite a clamor and the unleashed smell of carbureted fuel which had not yet made friends with a catalytic converter made for a beautiful aroma appreciated by only a few, and I was happy.

Dual exhaust that made quite a clamor and the unleashed smell of carbureted fuel which had not yet made friends with a catalytic converter made for a beautiful aroma appreciated by only a few, and I was happy. 

I purchased this ill advised mammoth in a far away city only a few days before Christmas, unbeknownst to my wife, and had it shipped to a local garage. I was over the redneck moon. My larger than life man toy had arrived. I was like Augustus Gloop, the husky kid in Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory, with my eyes on the candy prize. Actually, the more I ponder, this covert action may be in the top five dumbest things I have managed to convince myself was a good idea. 

I consider myself brilliant in a lot of ways. Like a child who sticks a fork in a receptacle, more than once, kinda brilliant. My plan, which even a five year old would have thought was lame, was to park the slightly lifted all terrain vehicle in our driveway on Christmas Eve pretending Santa Clause somehow left it there. As my brilliance began to dim, I thought it to be a good idea to surprise my sweet wife Christmas morning with my new acquisition. Check that…this just became the third dumbest thing I have ever done. The number one dumbest thing I have slid into is super classified top secret. 

I will allow the reader’s mind to wander as to the fallout that ensued at my compulsive, unauthorized, purchase . What I thought would be a merry mountain moment quickly fell off the cliff of misery. What had I done? Mrs. Clause was not amused. I got the look. The look your mama gives when you cannot stop fidgeting in the pew during the preaching hour. Well, I thought, at least my children still like me. I was embarrassed, but tried to lasso what joy was left.

I enjoyed that truck for about six months and then off she went, traded for a boat. My decision making prowess continued to tank, but my marriage was still in tact. A lot of lessons learned. It was fun while it lasted but glad when it ended. The First Lady only climbed in once, reluctantly, for a trip down the main drag. We were a sight for sore eyes. George Straight on the radio and my steady Betty by my side. She and I, high atop our fuel sipping brethren. It was one glorious ride in time.