For one glorious week each month (sometimes more) I get to drive around in style, pretending I actually have a smidge of coolness deep down inside myself. When David travels, I get to trade in my 7 year old Kia minivan (which I'm considering donating to Science, to undergo testing of all the substances that are stuck to the inside of it) for his 2012 Toyota Highlander. I'm not going to lie, I sometimes make up extra errands, just so I can get the most use and enjoyment out of it.
David keeps his car pristine. We are not permitted to exit his vehicle unless we have in our hands everything we brought with us at the start of the trip. If he's feeling extra generous and happens to let us eat in his car, we must grab every microscopic morsel that didn't quite make it into our mouths, and every shred of napkin, wrapper, bag, cup, straw, straw paper, etc. Sometimes it can take up to 30 minutes for us to be cleared by him to get out of his car upon returning home. He still makes the final sweep himself, and any missed items are tossed out onto the floor of the garage. Doesn't matter what they are, Tate's glasses, my cell phone, perhaps an extra friend one of the children brought along.
David's car affectionately goes by the name "Bob". When we first got it, the kids insisted it needed a name. "My car doesn't have a name," I objected. "Sure it does," they assured me, "It's name is 'Van'". Still a wee bit jealous of his new ride I continued, "Well, I'm not calling it Bob. That's just silliness." The name stuck, however. I decided that before long, we'll have 3 teenage drivers in the house who won't give a darn about naming our vehicles, as they breeze past us with the keys and head out in different directions. And David and I will be stuck at home. Playing gin rummy. So to embrace their littleness, I reluctantly began referring to it as "Bob" as well.
Bob still has his new car smell for crying out loud. Or, he did. Until today's events. I've composed the following letter to Bob's owner to hopefully lighten the blow.
I hope your week in Denver is going well. We certainly do miss your sense of humor and quick wit when you are absent from us. These greetings are filled with an abundance of good news about our afternoon, interlaced with one small bit of bad news.
Good News: Your sweet children and adoring wife (that's me, in case you were having trouble placing her) are totally and completely fine.
Good News: Bob has nary a scratch, dent, nor discoloration whatsoever, on his beautiful framework.
Good News: By ensuring our children continue to develop strong bones and teeth, I am keeping the fridge stocked with calcium rich products.
Bad News: The gallon of milk I purchased at Wal-Mart (Great Value brand, of course, because I'm always looking for ways to save your hard earned money) sprung a slow leak on our way home.
Good News: The humongous floor mat in Bob's trunk is quite absorbent. Impressively so, in fact.
Good News: Because I'm trying to get in shape by running with Reese multiple times per week, I was able to swiftly extract the floor mat, toss it onto the driveway, dash up the stairs, grab towels and carpet cleaner, and sprint back down the stairs to begin working furiously on the carpet, all without breaking a sweat.
Good News: Remember how we used to laugh when one of the kids would drop a milk filled sippy cup under the seat, and we would find it days later by following the smell? Keep those happy memories close to your heart if you happen to catch a familiar whiff in Bob.
I am counting down the hours until we are together again, give or take a few, because the exact time of your flight on Friday has escaped me.
Your One True Love (that's me again, Kristen)