What a Guy

Last weekend, as we were zipping Goldie around Seattle, Terese's daughter asked me, "How old is your Prius?"

I had to do some mental math. Let's see....she was a present to me on my fiftieth birthday, so that makes her...um.....how old am I, Terese?

::Eye roll from Terese::

Oh, right. I'm going to be 55 in June so that makes Goldie almost five years old. Why?

"Because it still smells like a new car."

I refrained from correcting her regarding her use of a pronoun. Goldie is a SHE. Not an IT. Since Terese's daughter is such a peach, I let it slide. This time.

REALLY? But Goldie has to haul around two slobbering and stinky schnauzers and ME all the time. Just look at those windows!

Which was true. I carry paper towels and Windex in Goldie because Lulu and Maggie love rubbing their noses all over the windows. But on further reflection, I suppose Goldie is in pretty good shape for a car coming up on her fifth birthday. I can't take any credit whatsoever for this. It's all John.

When John and I first started dating, I had a car, and he kind of did. (He was driving his mom's old blue station wagon with a canoe strapped to the top. Honest.) My car was an AMC Concorde, brand spankin' new, thanks to the generosity of my parents to their very bratty daughter on her graduation from college. It was brown with a brown fake-leather landeau top. I called this car "The Woodtick."

Woodtick image found here. Mine looked exactly as shiny as this one after John arrived on the scene.

Hm. I'm realizing just now that I never gave Woodtick a gender. Wonder why. I suppose insects have genders, don't they?

After a few dates in the blue station wagon with the canoe on the top (John didn't want to take the canoe off because he didn't have a good place to store it. He figured it was just as safe on top of his car as anywhere else), we began taking the Woodtick on our outings. Since John was and is a much better driver than I am, I asked him if he would drive. From the minute that this man put his hands on the steering wheel, he took control.

"When is this car due for an oil change?"

Um. Oil change? (Don't tell my Dad this. He spent far too many hours explaining how to maintain a car to me. I just wasn't listening, as usual.)

"Let's see......how many miles do you have on it....OK, I think I should change the oil. Do you know what weight oil you should use and what size oil filter?"

Oil weight? Filter?

"Julia! This is a new car! You really need to take care of it!"

Hey. No mouthing off to me on the first month of dating, mister. Or there will be no SECOND month.

"I'm serious. And it's really pretty dirty. When did you wash it last?"

Wash it?

We were heading home after an afternoon at the lake, and he pulled the Woodtick into my apartment's parking lot close to a water spigot.

"Got a bucket and a sponge?"

And so it began. I ran for the bucket and sponge -- and my camera.

Oh, yeah. I knew immediately that he was a keeper.

Some things never change, I guess. John is still washing my cars and I'm still running for my camera.

Ahhh. Life is good.