There can be only one….and it’s not mine.
In a time before times, I was unceremoniously barred from the princess garage. It was all a misunderstanding over the definition of “for better or worse”. The Mrs came home one evening to what must have looked like a junk yard horror film. The remains of a 283 SBC were scattered over two bays. Old antifreeze, Castrol GTX, and other unidentifiable bits of sludge and grime coated the floors, walls and most of the cabinets….. It was perfect.
Out went the tool box, air compressor and Farrah Fawcett pinup, forever banned, never to return.
Years of wailing and gnashing of teeth could not convince the Empress to relent. Alas, no amount of foot massages, morning coffee in bed and submissive posturing could relinquish my banishment from the three stalls of automotive habitat.
Vowing to one day return, I moved my habits, hobbies and borderline social skills, to a storage bld where I plotted my revenge and triumphal return. “Ah fallen Cherub, tis better to wrench in a storage bld than park in the Princess Garage”. Although my particular interests do border on the juvenile and sophomoric, a man of my esteemed technical acumen and worldly knowledge needs at least one bay to practice my motor craft art(s) and keep my finely honed abilities razor sharp.
The days, months and years ground by as the Mule and I established our own Kingdom in the land of Nod, AKA “Greater Prestonia”. A magic place where we are shielded from motor oil moratoriums. A place where whizzing off the back porch is not only acceptable, it’s encouraged. A place where pieces and parts from the Mule adorn the walls of the grand gallery in bay number one. A place where the mini fridge is always full. A place where shaving and regular bathing are left up to the individual. A place where a cheeseburger is an acceptable breakfast staple. A place where discussions on viscosity, the Remington 700 and our favorite taxidermist are frequent and acceptable conversation. King of all I survey.
It must have been during my absence one week that Her Majesty decided it was time to “Redo the Garage”. I was dumbfounded and speechless, totally unprepared for the emotions that I was feeling. Putting down the pedicure file and patting her hairy little feet dry, I said “ I want a four post and some Snap-on tools. Yeah and a big parts washer and a paint booth and how abou”….
”What…! No you mouth breathing Cretan, I don’t want a garage-garage, I’m thinking something like a Barbie Garage. Something sparkly, pretty and clean without any car stuff cluttering it up.” She said as she twirled the ends of her recently colored hair.
I could feel the bile rising up in my throat as my testosterone level plummeted. “Sparkly? Pretty? Clean? Who ever heard of such a thing? I’m pretty sure that’s illegal in at least ten western states. “I bet there won’t even be a mini e fridge”, I grumble underneath my breath.
Taking a sip from her Soy Latte’ she remarks, ”I’m going to call my friend the decorator to help. Won’t that be fun? Hand me the phone. Oh, and I think you missed one of my toes”.
“So, ah Pumkin, say ah, since we’re ah, you know redoing the garage, do ahh, you know do you think ahhh, well maybe I could, you know, maybe I could have my old stall back”. I coo patting her little tootsies dry.
“Oh hell no, not a chance” was her immediate reply.
I think she’s starting to soften a little. “Well maybe, I could bring the SxS over and keep it here”. I ask applying her moisturizer.
HER - “No…But, I’ll let you pick out a new garage refrigerator”.
ME IMMEDIATELY - “Deal”.
What??? Don’t judge me, I’m weak.
Ok, so it’s done. The ceilings, walls and floor in the Barbie Playhouse Garage are finished. It is ”sparkly, pretty and clean” and in no way resembles the man palace I had once envisioned here in Lesser Babylon. But, Holy Sh$t, check out my new fridge…
Well, so much for my triumphal return.
“Barbie“ garage. I’ll post it up later. The “racing stripe” was from an incident Fred and I had navigating the storage bld many moons ago.
