Why My Husband Won’t Be Talking To Me When I Get Home

We have a rental car this week.

It is a Toyota Camry.  It was supposed to be a Ford Taurus, but we got this “foreign job-y” instead.  We laughed.  We scoffed.  We thought about returning to the counter and demanding a REAL car.  We’re a Ford family.  Through and through.

I think when my husband (and possibly father-in-law) reads this, I will be banished forever.

But I just have to say it.  I have to get it out.

I think I am in love with the Camry.


I only slightly worry about the gas peddle sticking as we go careening down steep mountainside roads.  It’s sort of always in the back of my mind.

But it really is a cute car.  I kind of can’t stop staring at it.  Don’t know why.  And it smells new.  I’m a sucker for that new car smell.  And I like how it beeps when you unlock it with the key fob.  I’m a simple girl.  I’m all about the little things.

So, I’m sorry, dear hubby.  And since I know we will never, ever in a million, TRILLION years own one, I am going to enjoy The Week of the Camry while I can.


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