time-to-move-on

The OB&C, as my loyal readers know, has recently suffered possibly the greatest loss in his life, short of his libido, the theft of his 2001 chevy silverado truck (273,428 miles). Initially he was virtually comatose, lying face down, christ-like, in the empty driveway wallowing in the last lingering puddle of transmission fluid, his sole remaining link to his beloved v6.

This catastrophe befell him on the friday before thanksgiving which he and MJE were to enjoy a deux (for the first time in almost half a century, no parents, children, grandchildren or other troublesome family members) in south carolina. MJE was meanwhile doing yeoman’s duty in atl watching the three gk’s: decibelle, apricot and seymour for the weekend when this dastardly deed was done. I was therefore unable to help pry him off the cement, wipe his filthy face and drag him into the apartment to suffer, away from the prying eyes of the neighbors. This situation, despite my physical absence, demanded immediate action requiring feats of psychological manipulation and financial slight of hand not seen since the demise of bernie madoff. No time to stand idly by and watch this unfortunate occurrence derail the historic thanksgiving to be, not to mention render our insanely expensive budget-busting mail order “heritage” turkey undeliverable. When I heard the terrifying words “You will need to fly down here, I cannot leave.” the four horsemen of the apocalypse nipping at my ass could not have made me move any faster.

As much as MJE loathes technology, there are times of crisis when it can make the difference between success and abject failure, like when you can upload a term paper on the reformation the day before it is due. Autotrader.com. was created for times like these. In minutes I had located a perfectly suitable replacement in the nola environs, contacted the sales manager, negotiated a price and issued explicit instructions that the OB&C was to be sold this truck and no other. If he wasn’t the new owner of that truck by closing time the deal was off. Furthermore, if I were made to fly down there, I would make it my business to pay him a call and assured him that a visit from an enraged MJE was the last thing he would want. The guy seemed suitably impressed with the menacing tone of my directive that he assured me he would fully comply.

Next step was to rouse the OB&C from his immobilizing melancholia and get him to the dealership. I tantalized him with a link to the new truck, which at least got him off the pavement. As much as any man mourns the loss of his old truck, or wife for that matter, the notion of a newer model is pretty enticing. So like any small child, the possibility of getting a desired toy can overcome even the strongest resistance to a bath, or a wee wee before a long drive; the lure of the smell of new vinyl ultimately proved more powerful than the familiar stench of dirty hunting socks and bug repellent.

And so the OB&C has turned the page but has not yet fully recovered, and probably never will. That old chevy will always be part of him and the driveway cement.

In the end he and the turkey arrived in time and we had a perfectly awful thanksgiving.

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