To understand my husband, you have to know he has an ever-growing tacky collection, including canned alligator meat, Chinese Revolutionary propaganda, and a Jesus toast maker.
Recently, he told me, “I have a surprise for you.”
I raised my eyebrows, choosing silence.
“You’ll get it tomorrow when you come home from work,” he said.
“Is this a good surprise?” I asked. Trust me, this was a not a stupid question.
He nodded. “Plus, it’s blog-worthy.”
My eyes widened. “But I only blog about disasters.”
The next day, I careened my little commuter car around the corner of our crescent. It didn’t take me long to see Chris’s surprise.
It was sitting on the driveway.
I walked into our house, shaking my head.
Chris sat in the arm chair, arms crossed. Smug.
“Well?” he said.
“Isn’t it freaking hilarious?”
“I guess so,” I said. “It’s ironic, I’ll give you that. I’m just not sure people will get the irony.”
“I wanted to get a subwoofer, too,” he said, “but I held back.”
“Good show of restraint.” I plopped myself onto the couch. “Maybe we should get a licence plate that says IRONIC,” I suggested.
“I don’t do vanity plates.”
“But you do flames on a minivan?”
“And the blue and white colours,” I said, “are they part of the irony? Leafs’ colours in Flames country?”
“Well,” I said, “at least I’ll be able to find the van in a parking lot.”
What do you think?
How else should we pimp out our loser cruiser?