Boys and Their Toys

I’m struggling with my emotions today. 

“Well, big deal,” I hear my inner voice saying in my head. “You’re not the only one. So you’re selling Don’s classic car. At least you have a car to sell. Think of all the widows out there who are struggling with major financial issues.”

Been there, done that after Don’s stroke, I answer back. I paid my dues in the Financial Difficulties Club. Today is different. It’s not about money or downsizing. It’s about seeing the Vette loaded up on top of the transport truck and feeling like a piece of Don’s heart was going down the street.

“You are such a sentimental cry baby!” 

I’m trying not to be.

“Try harder.”

Yadda, Yadda, Yadda! Quit talking to me! Life is hard enough without voices in my head second guessing everything I do. 

“This is the perfect time of the year to get that car gone over by a mechanic so it can be advertised to all those guys who are looking for a cure for their middle age crisis or their winter cabin fever.”

I know. All they need is a silver anniversary Vette to cruise the open highway, t-tops off, as they smell the sweetness of spring in the air.

“Oh, brother! I hope you’ll let someone else write up the advertisement. Guys don’t want to hear about smelling freshly mowed grass, pine trees and cow poop in farmers’ fields when they’re shop for a sports car. Hey, you should throw in a few of those old Snap-On calendars with the hot girls checking out one of those ’78 Vettes. Let your potential buyers visualize the kinds of women who are attracted to that car.”

You’re being ridiculous. Those hot girl models would climb all over a tricycle for the kind of money they get paid. Guys know that.

“No they don’t. Remember the calendar Don had hanging in the garage?”

How could I forget it? He had a lot of fun with that calendar…or I should say with the photograph he took of that calendar. He had his coworkers believing that was me in that bikini. He even had me sign the photo with something sappy to make it look more creditable. I wonder what ever happened to that picture.

“One of the guys at work probably stole it out of his tool box.”

I still have that calendar though.

“Yup, and you still have your memories. It’s time for the next generation to build some memories with that Vette.”

I know. Can you go away now? You’re giving me a headache! ©