Home Short Stories My Husband's 65 Olds
My Husband's 65 Olds PDF Print E-mail
Written by "Josie"   
Monday, 01 October 2007 00:00

I never watch television any more. It seems so tame. I can't sit through

a whole program to save my life. I try sometime, but I just can't do

it. My mind is on my computer. I'm thinking about what I could be

doing, where I could be going, what stories I could be telling.


My hubby talks to the back of my head. Sometimes I hear him

subconsciously, and I answer, “uh huh”. By the time I realize he has

actually spoken to me, and turn around to listen, he is gone. Oh well,

I know he'll be back. He was probably just complaining about the tree

again, anyway. He hates trees that drop stuff on his car.


Don't feel sorry for him though.  I spent the first forty years of our

marriage, trying to get a conversation going.  He is either watching

TV, or out dusting his car.  He is a man of expertise in the art of

short answers, and he never accepts a difference of opinion, from

anyone. You are WRONG.  He can't hold a conversation, he holds a

monologue of his opinions. He could write a book on opinions.


He becomes very upset if Speed Vision changes its schedule, so that he

misses an episode. He loves his car, a classic, and he considers

himself an expert of classic cars. At the moment, he owns a ‘65

Oldsmobile dynamic, 4-door hardtop.  That is the way he describes it.

You have to say the whole thing.


No one is allowed to touch it. Cats come from the devil. Birds leave

their calling cards, but don't dare stay to visit.  In a parking lot,

he is one of those that takes up two parking spaces so no one will bang

the car with a door or basket. He got a Disabled Person parking tag to

hang on his mirror. Those parking spaces are extra wide.  He loves

them.  No one will chip his car with their door there.


I found out a few weeks ago that he is secretly looking for another car.

He wants to trade my car for one. The other day, he was talking in a

joking manner about it to our son, so I didn't pay any attention. But,

he came in the house one day after that, and said he'd talked to

someone about an old car, and they wanted to look at mine.


"No!" I told him. "I am keeping my car. I like my car. My car is

faithful. It takes me where I want to go, and it gets me home bravely.

If you want the other so badly, you can trade yours for it!"


Oh, shoot! I have to find and hide the Title! If he would wait for a

couple more years, mine will be a classic, then he would just be

wanting to buy it back.


To get his mind off of trading my car, I figured he needed something to

do. I went to the nursery and brought home some flowers to plant.


I told him, "Get the shovel, dig a hole, and stick it!"


He has been planting flowers for a few years, since his retirement. I

try to only get the ones that are tough though, because he knows

nothing about flowers.  He will water them to death. “Well, they were

dry.” he says.


"Un huh."


My son went out to a bird farm, and picked up all their old bird cages,

and little bird houses.  Old, rusty, and in need of rejuvenating, just

like my husband.


We were hoping he would jump in, see the potential,  go get some paint

and make them pretty again.  Sounds good to me.  But no, they are still

lying out in the corner of my yard, piled up.


I said, “You could paint little flowers, and birds on them.  You could

put artificial flowers inside, a plastic bird on the swing, and hang

them from the tree limbs."


No, he isn't interested.


I wonder if I suggested painting it as a garage, and putting little Hot

Wheel's inside, he would go for it? I even have a set of four inch tall

gas pumps sitting on my entertainment center that I would be thrilled

for him to take outside and do something with.


"Well, what about a computer?" I asked him. "You could go to the W.W.W.

and look up classic cars."


"No. It's not the same as touching them. I would rather go to someone's

junk yard, or back forty. I talked to a guy who knows a guy who has a

'36 Ford in his garage. It's just sitting there, rusting away, and he

won't sell it, it makes me so mad to see these classics just rusting



So, not being able to trade my car for another, he takes his polish and

rags, and heads back to his car, smiling.


Now that I have succeeded in getting him out of the house once more, I

head back to my computer, smiling. We both seem to be doing exactly

what we want to do. Ah, compatibility, you have to grow into it, it

takes time.


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