Photo from this car sale ad
This morning, my husband called and asked if I would drive a cop car if he bought it. We have joked in the past that refurbished cop cars would make excellent family vehicles, in that they already have a fiberglass window separating the front seat from the back. Thinking that he was joking, I said sure.
He then emailed me the sale ad. I scratched my head looking at it, since the 1992 Mercury Grand Marquis with a Ford grille swapout and recenly installed T-45 Cobra 5-speed manual transmission did not look like a cop car to me. It also was not awesome in any of the ways I normally define the word. I called J back.
"Isn't it great? Want to drive to Chicago this weekend?" he asked.
"That's not a cop car," I said. "It doesn't look anything like a Crown Victoria."
"It's an undercover police car," he said. "It's like the one the Blues Brothers drove. Want to buy it?"
"No," I said. "Although we could drive it while wearing black fedoras, ties, and sunglasses. Through a mall."
"I knew you'd come around," J said. "So we'll replace your car with this one."
"Not going to happen."
I had thought J was joking about this, but I could hear his soul compress as it was crushed under the weight of my NO.
Later today, he sent me a link to the new They Might Be Giants video wherein that oh-so-ironic band makes a pink monster truck hearse out of cardboard and then crushes it. When I let him know that this, too, would not be my next car, this was his email response:
"Today you have said no to.
- The Bluesmobile
- A monster truck pink hearse
I just don't know you anymore."
These are the marital problems that the rabbi just doesn't prepare you for.
