I have a truck. After going for almost two years with only one vehicle, we bought my truck. Found it on Craigslist, didn't pay much for it. John says we overpaid, and I say that you can't put a price on (my) happiness.
It's a complete piece of crap.
And I love it with an unfounded, makes-no-sense kind of passion.
John hates it, in a fire-of-a-thousand-suns kind of way.
She's a '94 F150, (mostly) white, two-door with a full backseat. Which means we all fit with legroom and no jump seats. Yay!! Used to belong to the City of Austin, and she was one of their paint crew trucks. She has paint ALL OVER HER. John says it makes her look really ugly. I say it gives her character. 4.9, V6 engine, so I can pull stuff if I want to, but she doesn't eat gas like a V8 would. Both kayaks fit in the back at the same time. Her name is Shirley Mae. Because she's a good 'ole country truck.
She keeps breaking. And so, John hates her.
Here's the thing. I was talking with John one day, and he laughingly told me that I'm missing a pink gene from somewhere in my DNA. And I've decided that it's true. Don't get me wrong, I love to cook, and being a mom and wife totally rocks. However, I like a lot of decidedly un-pink things. I love guns. I like having dirt under my nails after working outside. Clearing underbrush by hand is not only enjoyable, it burns lots of calories.
My dream is to one day buy an old, non-working '69 Stingray and rebuild the whole thing. And in this dream, fantasy harshly collides with reality. I know absolutely NOTHING about cars. Or trucks. Or engines. Whatever.
My new goal in life is to learn lots of mechanical stuff. My first step? Tomorrow, I'm going to be replacing the main belt in my truck, along with several hoses. I'll have some help, but I want to be the one who really does it.
Wish me luck, and I'll let you know how much skin I lose off my knuckles in the process.
Might even post a pic or two. We'll see.