Big Bad Truck

My car was in the shop today, so I drove my mom's truck to work. It's big and black and bad. It has black leather seats and happy, white, circle gauges rimmed with silver. It's luxurious. But mostly, it looks awesome. So, I furtively peeled the handicap tag off the rearview mirror, making sure nobody around might think I was the one with health issues, dropped off the kids, and popped some punk rock into the CD player (an amenity which I do not have in my car). Once I managed to find my sunglasses and put them on (also black), I was pretty sure I looked like a badass. I knew all those boys were looking at me. I caught a few of them. Nothing makes your day like being reminded you still have something worth looking at (sorry about that preposition, but in some circles that is completely appropriate).
All of this prideful behavior went on for maybe 15 minutes, which may not seem like long to you, but try it sometime. Try feeling like you're a hottie for 15 minutes straight. It's not easy.
Then I remembered.
I remembered what mom had wanted for her birthday. I remembered what we had just given her. A vanity plate for the front of her big, bad....safe truck. It says "Grandma's Monster Truck" on it (my brothers and I thought that would be pretty funny at the time) and it is adorned with an airbrushed monster truck. Very Polk County.
Now I knew why all those boys were really looking at me.
Oh well.

DAILY BLISS: Grande decaf Starbucks coffee with cinnamon dolce syrup. Oh, yes.

<3 Christy