Monday, December 5, 2011

Putting Another Stamp on the Man Card

Sunday was a very exciting day indeed. Why? I got to drive a truck! Ok, so I also bought a washing machine and I guess that is pretty great but I have a penis and therefore must focus on what really matters to the men among my readership.

Whenever I come into possession of large objects that need to be transported to my sprawling estate, I run into a small problem. I drive a Toyota Corolla. This is not the most useful vehicle when attempting to move furniture, appliances or life-sized porcelain giraffes. It also has the unfortunate effect of making me look like a high school kid. My youthful good looks certainly help with that image but it is not one I particularly enjoy. If only I looked like Ryan Gosling. He’s so dreamy. Or at least that is what I have been told. By women. Lots of them. And they were all naked.

Sunday afternoon began with a quick trip to the northeast corner of the city to pick up a vehicle that changed my life for exactly two hours and forty seven minutes. In order to move my new washing machine I tricked a friend into letting me borrow his Toyota Tacoma. I told him I was using it to pick up the pony I bought him for Christmas. I can’t believe he fell for that. I don’t celebrate Christmas. Anyway, with the truck in my possession, The Little Italian at my side and the GPS leading the way I rolled out in style. Almost immediately I noticed a change in myself as I drove. I was suddenly just a little bit taller. The hair on my body became fuller and richer than before. I’m pretty sure I even started growing a mustache. And then, let’s just say my fabulous man bits became exceedingly impressive. Apparently they became magnetic as well. Women were throwing themselves at me so hard that their heads were denting the side of the truck. I’m sure they were fine though. Not that I was about to stop and check. Aggressive women scare me so I just left them heaped up along the side of the road.

They make a cute couple if you're into that sort of thing. I wonder what the kids would look like.

Upon arriving at our destination TLI and I promptly embarrassed the person who sold us the washing machine by declining his assistance and loading it into the back of the truck on our own. He seemed impressed by the ease with which we did this but just for good measure we did a few hand stand push-ups in his driveway and then my beloved threw his car into a lake. My memory of this event may be a bit foggy but I am pretty sure that is EXACTLY what happened.

Getting our magnificent new laundry cleaning contraption into our home was a snap. Up the stairs, through the door and into the hallway we went. No hood required. This is where the only real problem of the day arose. Once the machine was in place I went into a state of shock. The large white cube made my hall closet look painfully domestic. Where there was once enough space for a track bike there was now only the infernal machine. I breathed rapidly into a paper bag but it did nothing to ease my panic. Sniffing glue didn’t do much either. I thought my head might explode but then a beautiful solution hit me right in the face. Rude but effective. The Little Italian went outside and I went to work. All it took was a few well-placed bike stickers to bring my heart rate back into normal territory. And when my wife came back inside? As far as you know, she was pleased as punch.

It may not be particularly aerodynamic but the stickers definitely make it look fast.

I scoured the pages of the UCI rulebook and found nothing banning a 7 Cycle 2 Speed. I'm sure that will change. You know how they like to reject new technology.

So that is where my day began the inevitable slide toward a stiff nightcap. I jumped into the Tacoma one last time to bring it back to its rightful owner. As a matter of course, I made a quick stop at a gas station to fill up the tank. Have I mentioned lately just how much I love my Corolla? I have never seen a gas pump run for so long. At one point I actually knelt down to look under the truck because I was fairly certain gas was draining right out the bottom. My dreams of owning a truck may have been shattered by an expensive trip to the pump but at least I can still grow a totally sweet mustache.