My poor old truck gets no respect...

First of all, I don't consider a twenty year old truck to be OLD.  It's a truck; it's supposed to last.  Like a Rock and all that, right?  I grew up with a family farm truck that was already twenty years old.  It's still kicking, too.  All summer every day of every year, the old Ford hits the road.  It probably gets more miles in a year than mine does.

So my GMC is not old enough to be an antique, not new enough to be nice, not customized, not special.  Except to me.  It is MINE and my name is on the paperwork.  Therefore it's the best truck in the... well, not world.  Best truck in my driveway?

Jethro juts out his lower jaw and announces that it's the last gas powered vehicle in our family.  The Jetta has him converted.  Diesel or nuthin.  For his next vehicle (which will be a long time from now, the way our income is going) he's thinking of a nice diesel VW Toureg.  All wheel drive.  Or.  A Ford F-250.  Because that way he'd have a man-truck, not this girly Chevy truck.

Geez.

We were driving along with a utility trailer in tow, after a trip through the slob-thru.  Jethro launched into his usual post-slob-thru tirade.  "How can a truck be designed to carry six people and have zero cupholders?"

I rolled my eyes like I usually do and reply, "Because twenty years ago trucks were designed to work, not have coffee shop meetings."

Then he waves his hand around the interior and makes some crack about all the carpeting and upholstery and velvety sun visors.  This makes me sigh in defeat because I know, I know.  Carpet in a truck is STUPID, I mean what were they thinking?  It's really hard to get the clods of mud out... and the woven upholstery is so hard to vacuum the pug hair out of, not to mention horse hair and whatever else got picked up on any day.

On this particular day my ol Man was riding shotgun and of course, his truck has vinyl floor mats all the way across, a vinyl bench seat, and a metal dash.  No pansy fabric anywhere.  Nothing to catch all the dirt, he could just wipe it all down clean, which he wouldn't do if car shows didn't exist.  Me, I gotta spend half an hour and about eight bucks in coins to get my interior clean.

So my GMC loses again.

When our hot chocolates and coffee were gone, I asked Dad to shove then in the Hick Garbage Can for me.  You know what the Hick Garbage Can is right?  The door panel map holder things, in the door panel, you know, where you keep all your stuff and junk but not your maps.

Well.  Doesn't he make note that his Garbage Can holders are much bigger than mine.

Jethro laughed because the Ford's doors are hollow, basically, although the steel is probably twice the thickness, and theoretically Dad could fill the entire door with Root Beer cans.  And still get the window down.

Of course, windows, that's another thing.  I like power windows.  Argument: just another thing to break down and spend money on.

And speaking of spending money!  He has basically the same engine in his truck, but gets waaaay better fuel mileage.  Well if my truck was half its size... I give up on that argument.  I mean, why bother?

Besides, his truck can kick the ass right offa mine.  Most Grandmas can kick my truck's ass.

So what's it good for?  The interior is a pain, it's too big to park, it's horrible on gas.

I'll tell you what.

Other than IT'S MINE, it can carry six people, or, me and my kids and three friends.

I can fit a 4x8 sheet of plywood no problem, with the tailgate closed.  And yes, I've done this many times in the last five years.

I can fit twice the amount of junk than Dad's little old Ford.

Unlike Jethro's F-250, my truck exists.

Oh, also: I am not very big, but my truck is, and yes, size does matter.

My guys really should be kinder to the big ol monster.  She pulled two trailer loads of stuff down the highway on the weekend, with both the cab and box loaded up.  Emptied the gas tank but it was still cheaper than renting a cube van.  I told Jethro that brand new engine two years ago was totally worth it.  He is not convinced.  He tells me when I say things like that, that the truck owes us and we'll have to drive it for the next ten years to get our money's worth.

I say, "YOu're darn right we'll be driving it ten years from now!"

Then my ol Man scoffs.  "No you won't be," he growls, "it's made out of plastic!  It won't last."

Maybe he forgets how stubborn his daughter is.

I kept telling them how great my truck is, mostly in protest.  It is, I admit, looking kinda rough these days.  Too many studio moves, studio construction projects, backyard deck/ shed projects, too many trips to the dump, horse shows, too many winters.  The shiny silver paint Dad sprayed on it five years ago has dulled.  Next time I'm doing flat black.  Well, I'll do the primer, he'll do the paint.  I don't do paint on things with wheels.

I wonder if I can talk him into painting pink and purple flames on it.  How awesome would that be???  He refused to paint my first truck purple; he let me drive it with primered wheel wells instead!  I wonder if Jethro would be seen in it...  I mean, it's not like either one of those guys approves anyways.

Heh heh heh...