Married folks always have great stories. Some stories are more amusing to one spouse than the other.

Over the Christmas holiday, we went home to Arkansas to visit family. Christmas seems to be the time when everyone whips out their favorite story on another family member, but the stories spouses tell on each other normally are the best.

My mom’s friend is like many women when it comes to automobiles. She knows how to operate one, but isn’t too keen on any details regarding how they work or much else.

Years ago, mom’s friend pulled into a store where she saw her husband’s truck parked. He was supposed to have taken her car that day for maintenance, and she was not happy when she spotted his vehicle.

She was late for work and not in the mood to have a conversation with him about his lack of thoughtfulness regarding her and her vehicle’s immediate needs. So, she parked her car and got into his truck.

Disgusted by how full his ashtrays were, she pulled them out and emptied them in the nearest trashcan. She then got back in the truck and tidied the rest of the cab up a bit.

Not only had he forgotten about her car, his truck was a mess.

He had left the keys in the ignition (not an uncommon practice in those days), so she cranked up the truck, revved the engine a few times, and drove on to her job.

After a bit, one of her coworkers asked where her car was, and whose truck she was driving. She told her the story of how her husband had failed miserably at remembering her vehicle maintenance, but that she had him back on track now after switching vehicles.

Her coworker said, “That’s not your husband’s truck.”

“Yes it is,” she responded.

“No it’s not. Your husband’s truck is blue. That truck is red.”

Silence.

“You’d better call the police,” her coworker said. “I’m sure that truck has been reported stolen.”

“I ain’t calling anybody,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

She returned the truck to the spot where it had been parked, got into her vehicle and returned to work.

She swore her coworker to secrecy.

A few months later while sitting in the stands at a football game, she overheard a man behind her talking to another man.

“Yeah, it’s the weirdest thing,” he said. “Someone got into my truck while I was in the store, emptied all the ashtrays and tidied things up. I have no idea who or why.”

She never turned around.

 

©2015 John Moore

For more of John’s musings, visit johnmoore.net/blog