Parrothead Ramblings

Behold the new Fetching Mrs. Crime Dogmobile!

The Fetching Mrs Crime Dog has been patiently telling me for years months weeks a little while now that she needs a new car. "This Blazer is going to strand me one day," she kept saying. Bah! Ridiculous! I'm the man here! I know better. Cars are my department. There's nuttin' wrong with that Blazer. You, ma'am, can tell me when we need new curtains.

So there.

Imagine my deflated male ego when the Blazer stranded her in a lttle fart of a town called Munds Park over the weekend.

Hey babe, I think it's time we change the curtains in the living room, OK?

Anyway, The Fetching Mrs Crime Dog and I went out last night immediately after work on the age-old, brain-melting, patience-testing, adventure of the automotive era: The Quest To Buy A New Car. Now, I wanted another SUV to replace the broke one. The Fetching Mrs Crime Dog agreed, but I knew what she really wanted was what she once described as a car car. Not a pickup, not a SUV. A car car.

Thank God they have one of those auto mall things over in Tempe, where you can look at like a zillion cars in just minutes. That is, of course, if you can only bat away the armies of insidious sales people who descend on you like clouds of tsetse flies. Matt, the young guy who helped us at Power Toyota, was just right for me. He just kind of hung back and let us look - no pressure, no annoying yammering. When I told him I thought the Land Cruiser's interior was "fugly," he stifled a laugh. That's when I knew Matt and I would get along just fine. I'm not sure if even The Fetching Mrs Crime Dog was completely hip to that contraction. Even if she wasn't, she certainly will be after reading this.

We left there and bounced around to several other dealerships, ultimately deciding that a plate of food looked better than any of the ugly-ass SUVs we'd seen. That's when I made an executive decision: I would keep my Blazer, somehow scratch up the cash to repair it, and The Fetching Mrs Crime Dog could pick out whatever car car she wanted. She was delighted! Immediately, here eyes began to spin around like a slot machine. I saw all sorts of cars spin past, but she finally stopped on a pair of dark metallic-gray convertible Jaguars. That sounded good to me, but the nearest Jag dealer was all the way up in Scottsdale, so we took a pass on that and headed back over to see Toyota Matt again. The Fetching Mrs Crime Dog fell quickly in love with a pretty little gray Camry, Matt made the deal, and voila, just like that, mission accomplished.

Almost.

See, they won't just toss you the keys. You gotta have proof of insurance. Mine was in another car at home, all the way across town. By now, it's 10:00PM. No problema! Our nephew, Wayne M, just came in from Dallas and is staying with us for a while. I'll just call him, have him grab the insurance card and fax it over to the dealer. Piece of cake. Knowing he usually only answers his cell phone, I look up "Wayne M" on my cell and punch "send." See, I know its the right number. How many "Wayne M's" with Texas area codes can I have stored in my cell phone?

(mumbling, groggy) Hullo?

Wayne?

Mmmm (yawn) yeah.

Hey, I'm buying a car, and I need a favor, OK?

Huh....whut...mmmmm OK.

(Whispering, holding my hand over the mouthpiece) I can't believe he's asleep already. Wayne never goes to bed this early.

OK, I need you go out to the garage. OK?

Wh-what?

Wake up, man! I need you. Go out to the garage, look in the Mustang, and get the insurance card. Take it into my office and fax it to me."

Wh-wh-WHAT? There's a MUSTANG in the garage? Wh-What?

Yes! Yes! The Mustang! The red convertible! Remember?

Wh-wh-wh-WHAT?

That's when it hit me: My brother's name is Wayne. Wayne M. He lives in Dallas. He's a car dealer.

And it's after midnight there.

The Fetching Mrs. Crime Dog twigged to it about that time and started cracking up. We're both picturing my brother in pillow hair, boxers, an open bath robe, and five o'clock shadow, cordless phone gripped in one hand as he flips his garage light on with the other, wondering why the hell someone would call him at midnight to tell him he had a Mustang in his garage when he owns a pair if Infinities.

I called him to apologize today. Being the good brother that he is, he told me it just made us even for the "We're so lost" phone call from last year.

What a guy. But I still hold the record for earliest (in the year) swim in your pool. Oh, and the quickest swim in your pool, which was the exact same time, as I recall. Now, who's even?
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