Song of the Humpback Whale

I drive a big truck. And when I say "big", I mean extended cab, long bed, lifted, biggie size french fries HUGE! This thing is so large it defies 99% of all parking lots and drive thru banking or eating establishments. Although I loathe driving my husband's monster truck in the preschool carpool there are some distinct advantages.

First and foremost is safety. Honestly, I've only been cut off one time in 4 years. And that's only because Senior Stinky in the toothpaste colored Geo Prism was performing the macarena at brain bleed volume and didn't notice my diesel destroyer nearly crush him.

And, parking Gigantor provides such an impressive upper body workout I've probably postponed those old lady "bat wing biceps" for a few years. (You know, the kind of arms your 2nd grade teacher flapped recklessly around as she wrote on the chalkboard?)

Finally, my hottie quotient has skyrocketed with rednecks, truckers and construction workers. I'm not proud of it, but there's some sick gratification for this nearly 40 year old housewife to get the occcasional cat call or lurid gesture while idling at intersections. Thanks guys!

But, manuevering this mass of twisted steel and hillbilly sex appeal isn't without it's drawbacks. It takes no less than 20 minutes and a 2nd mortgage to fill her up. And, I've maintained greater modesty at pap smears than the last time I tried to dismount the gray ghost at church while wearing a pencil skirt and high heels.

Surprisingly I've maintained a near flawless driving record and incurred nary a scratch on precious' pristine charcoal exterior. But a few days ago, all that quickly came to an end. While making the obligatory 5 point turn to back Big Mac into our garage I heard an unfamiliar groaning nose. Chalking it up to my tone deaf 4year old singing twins, I pressed forward,(well, backwards actually) but the same low frequency song of humpback whale noise persisted. So, I shushed the kids, turned off the radio and hit the gas one final disastrous time.

Just as the old synapses began firing again I looked in the rear view mirror to see my sweet hubby silently (windows up) although somewhat enthusiastically spewing obscenties while frantically waving his arms like an airline tarmac worker with a faulty flashlight.

Note to self: The mesmerizing "song of the humpback whale" can be duplicated by scraping the rear fender of a highly polished Ford truck down the entire rusty length of the white metal hand railing in our garage. Happy Birthday Honey!