It is a truth universally acknowledged that anyone selling a truck for under $1000 on Craigslist in New England will not speak English.

(pardon me, Jane Austen)

Everyone who reads Pride and Prejudice once a year raise your hands!!!!

During our 10-day road trip home last summer, Banjo Man and I resolved to (a) get in shape, (b) spend more time on our music, (c) buy a comfortable couch and (d) clean out the basement.  Once we arrived home, my husband realized that (d) required owning a truck.

I did not agree.  I was sticking to the making-do-with-one-car-and-not-buying-another-piece-of-crap plan.

Banjo Man remained unfazed.  “Surely,” he pronounced, “I can find a truck–just a truck to go to the dump on Saturdays–for under $1000.”

Go for it, I said.  I printed out a list of pick ups for sale on the internet and washed my hands of the whole thing.  Except…I eavesdropped when Banjo Man called the sellers.  I didn’t intend to eavesdrop, but Banjo Man was yelling.  You know how people yell when they can’t be understood, as if saying it louder would somehow turn the words into a different language?

Is it inspected?  Inspected.  (pause) IN-SPEC-TION.  YOU KNOW, INSPECTION STICKER????  Who’s Juan?  Sure I’ll hold on. (pause)  Juan, hello, I just want to know is uh, the truck inspected?  IN-SPEC-TED? (pause)  Oh, you don’t speak English either?  Well, thank you anyway.

This conversation was repeated several times over one weekend.   Banjo Man gave up the hunt until December, when the mechanic inspecting the Mazda asked him if he was still looking for a truck to use to go to the dump (they call them “Saturday trucks” around here).  Turned out that another longtime customer had the perfect truck (a little 1997 Mazda) for sale, for $1000.

Banjo Man was beside himself with excitement.  He bought that truck the next morning, after warning me that it was pretty rough-looking and perfect for the dump and beat up.  I was happy he was happy, but I was doing the “eye roll” thing when he talked about it.

Then he brought it home.

Love at first sight, I tell you.  My heart beat faster at the sight of a little white pick up in my driveway.  I knew I’d missed my little white Toyota truck, but I didn’t realize how much until its older cousin took its place.  It didn’t look nearly as bad as Banjo Man said it did.  It looked really nice.

The minute Banjo Man came home with the new license plates and the registration, I took the key and left the house.  I WENT TO THE POST OFFICE AND THE LIBRARY AND THE USED BOOKSTORE AND CUMBERLAND FARMS AND THE NICE CONSIGNMENT STORE AND CVS AND WALMART AND SUBWAY!!!!

On the way home I played with the radio stations and this really cool song came on, so I turned the volume up and rolled down the window.

I googled it when I got home:  I had discovered Lynrd Skynrd (or however you spell it).

I’m in that truck every chance I get.  I have thanked Bewildered Banjo Man a thousand times.  I baked him a pie.  I forgave him for all of his horrible used-car decisions.  I love love love that old noisy truck.

They call me the breeze…