Hotel vs Mom

My husband is going to his brother's wedding this week. He gets to stay at his parent's house but if it was up to me, I'd stay at a hotel.

I'll tell you what I love about hotels: They can't do enough for you. They want to make you feel at home, and then they give you things that nobody has at home. Shower caps, shoe horns. . . and sewing kits? My husband has never sewn in his life. What makes then think he's going to start at the Marriott in Muncie, Indiana? Has anybody ever made that call? "Honey, I'm in Indiana, and my buttons are flying off like crazy! What do I do? What? Yes, there's a sewing kit right here. OK, I have it. Talk me through."

And I love the little chocolates on the pillow. There's a clever snacking item, because personally, there's nothing I like better right before I go to bed than a nice diabetic seizure. A pound and a half of sugar before going to sleep, good idea.

I want to know how they selected chocolate as the appropriate treat. What were the other suggestions? "How about . . . scallops? Do you think scallops would be good on a pillow? Or maybe kiwi. Several kiwi, thinly sliced . . ."

Could I get any cooler?

I think not. Well, maybe. After selling the purple truck, I had other plans. Not just to have money for my son's (gulp) car, but to also buy a scooter. I've had my eye on a little Vespa knock-off (just couldn't see spending $6000 on a scooter) so I did it. And I put little pink flames on it too. I just had to have the flames. Anyway, I'm still just going to work and back; a five minute ride, but I'm getting used to it, and I think this is the best way to go. Someday, maybe in a year or two, I will graduate to a bigger ride. But for now I am totally satisfied with what I got. I worked hard for it. Any hoo... later.

I sold my truck this evening. I'm crying a little. Yes, it was purple and was painted with a paint brush. Yes, it had spray painted flames with hand drawn daisies. It had not one but two, "Honk if you are a Farmgirl!" bumper stickers on the rear tail gate that only opened if you knew the "trick to it". But this truck was a family heirloom practically.

I remember when my son was three or four, riding his two-wheeler with the training wheels on it, bashing his head on the tailgate. But it was OK, because he was wearing the big Styrofoam retard bike helmet that Sonja always laughed at but bought one for her own son years later.

I remember my son six years old or so, helping Grandma shovel compost out of the back of it. And a few years later watching him drive it through the orchard in the only gear he knew--first.

And I now think back on the last few months or so, teaching my son, now going on sixteen, how to drive all five speeds in it. I laugh when I think of the stories he can tell when he's older about how he learned how to drive a stick in his mom's Viking purple, 91 Nissan P/U with the white daisy flames.

But I sold it to have the cash for a down payment on his first car. We decided the truck, as wonderful as she was, just wasn't safe enough for him. I want him to drive something with lots of airbags, automatic seat belts, and possibly a condom dispenser just in case.

Well, I'll miss her. I'm glad I remembered to warn the guy that bought it, to not freak out too much if he gets stopped by someone wanting to know why he's driving Kimberly's truck. I've been driving it like that a long while in a not so big town.

By the way, just for the record; I think I might of made some kind of Craigslist record. I posted the ad, and received a call about five minutes later, they showed up ten minutes after that, and I closed the deal within a half hour. It took me longer to clean it out. Wow. Sniffle, sniffle.

Oh, and I have no car. Sigh