I've been asked to guest post over there, and it made my day/week/month/year. If you'd like to see what I wrote, please go here.
I don't think I'm supposed to do this, but I want my entry for my own records, so I'm posting it below.
But please head on over to LLLW. She's much cooler than I am and I expect you'll love all her other posts too.
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It's fitting that LLLW (Laughing at Life's Little Wedgies) wrote about Christmas last week, because it felt like Christmas when she asked me to guest post on her blog.
Since she is so good at telling a funny story and applying a moral, all in a nice little package, I thought it'd be best to try the same format for my post.
Then, after 3 hours of bashing my head onto my desk trying to think of something deep, I finally gave up and decided it would be best to stick to my roots and just tell an anecdotal story from my past (or in this case, my dad's past).
Let me also clarify that while I'm teasing my dad a little, the apple definitely doesn't fall far from the tree.
My Dad and the Civic
My dad used to drive a Volkswagen Beetle (one of the new ones with a built-in flower vase). He got it silver to match his hair.
He thought the vase was a pen holder until I pointed out what it was really for. After giving him a moment to let it sink in, I thought he'd be slightly embarrassed about driving a car clearly made for a girl.
No such luck. He asked me to get a red rose bud for it.
When he bought a new car, he didn't want to go down and haggle with the dealership, so he negotiated the entire thing over the phone. He wanted a Honda Civic. He wanted it silver (again, to match his hair). He wanted it to have a CD player for his Mo Tab and Gaither CDs.
Once they agreed on a price, he went down and drove his new "silver bullet" off the lot.
A few months later, around Christmastime, he and the Civic spent one evening zipping around town, delivering pumpkin chocolate chip bread (way better than pumpkin chocolate chip cookies) to friends and family. This is one of our Christmas traditions.
My dad is all about efficiency, and while I don't know this for sure, it wouldn't surprise me to find out he had his map all marked out ahead of time with the route traced in red ink.
As he stopped at each house, he got increasingly irritated with the Civic. He had all the plates of bread in the back seat, and he couldn't get the seat to shift nearly as far forward as it did in his beloved Beetle.
So, there he was, at each house, squeezing his shoulders into the sliver of space between the chair and the door frame, using a flashlight to find the plate with the correct label.
He was livid. LI. VID.
Now, fast forward a few days.
My dad was helping a friend deliver Poinsettias to people and they decided to take the Civic. At the first stop, my dad once again wedged himself into the crack to pull out one of the plants.
I'm sure it brought back all the frustration (and perspiration) from the other night.
The next stop, it was my dad's friend's turn to get one of the plants. He got out of the car, opened the back door and pulled it out.
The. Back. Door.
It had been months, and my dad never noticed he now owned a car with four doors.