So, a few years ago I named my van Velma. I thought if I was friendlier, maybe she would be friendly back and we could build a relationship of trust, in that she would run smoothly and not leave me stranded on the side of the road. In return, I would give her more frequent visits at the spa, namely Uncle Brad's garage, for routine maintenance.
So far, it's been a win win situation.
Everyone in the family calls the van Velma, as in can I borrow Velma on Saturday, or will we take Velma or my car. It's fun and has become a family joke. Especially the talk comparing Velma's rust status with my bad back, both of us showing our age.
Yesterday we, five of us, piled into Velma and drove to my granddaughter's indoor soccer game. There was my daughter-in-law, me and the three grandkids, my son working until 7 P.M. As it was his birthday we were going to meet at Dairy Queen to celebrate with ice cream instead of cake.
The smaller kids have a bit of trouble with Velma's side door, as it tends to stick. The adult of the three grandkids, a mature 19, pulled the door open and made a comment about my dear Velma.
I was a few feet away, but I was sure I heard her call Velma a whore. I mean she's old, and is showing signs of wear and tear, but to call her a whore was...just rude.
"Did you just call Velma a whore?" I asked, and was given a shocked look in response.
"No," she replied. "I said I'd get the five hundred pound DOOR."
It was a joke for the three adults, one that I presume went over the head of the younger kids, and became a source of much kidding for the rest of the evening.
It's a good life lesson though, because what you think you hear, may not actually be what was said. It's always good to clarify.
I love you Velma, we have a few more roads to travel.
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