The buggy incident
I forgot to tell you about this pretty significant event that occurred right after Rayce and my two-hour Sonic visit with Kelli and Bryant.
After we said our goodbyes, I had to pee so bad that Rayce and I decided to use the bathroom in the Wal-Mart directly across the street before we left for home. The bathrooms in the back of Wal-Marts are usually the cleanest.
Right after Rayce parked his car and turned off the engine in the Wal-Mart parking lot, I noticed a shopping cart being pushed by the strong wind heading directly toward the front passenger side of Rayce’s car.
Now stop. Before I tell you the actions that followed that brief moment, let me first tell you about Rayce and his car.
I remember when I first pulled into the parking lot on my first date with Rayce, the first thing I noticed was his truck. It was nice. It was clean. It was lowered. He had fancy wheels.
I thought, “Oh no, he’s a truck guy.”
And I was right.
Rayce read truck magazines. He was a member of an online truck forum. He researched ways to properly clean his truck so not to scratch it. He had a closet (and still does) devoted to his truck’s cleaning supplies. He bought a buffer (and uses it about twice a year) to polish away any scratches in the truck’s paint. He avoided puddles in a parking lot if he just washed his truck. He and his dad performed all the maintenance and alterations to his truck (more male bonding). He parks in freakin bum-fucked Egypt everywhere we go (so careless idiots don’t put a door into it or rub their purses on it). He bought a supercharger for his truck (that was very expensive) that only lasted 6 months. He bought 22-inch wheels for the truck (that were very expensive) that he has yet to sell. He’s only raced with me in the truck once (and that’s all it took for him to never do that with me in the vehicle ever again).
Luckily he’s not an asshole-y truck guy. He wouldn’t put tacky shit on his truck and brag about it. He wouldn’t egg-on a race with someone (everyone did it to him. No seriously, they would). He wouldn’t cruise around town in his “cool truck.”
His care for vehicles is obvious, but when you really get down to it—he takes care of what’s important to him. Any large investment, even the dehumidifier for the basement, he takes time to research online to find exactly what he wants. His CDs and cell phone have no scratches on them. He washes his bedsheets every week. He takes his shoes off at the door. (All of these traits will make him an excellent husband)
So, when it was time for him to purchase his own vehicle and sell his beloved truck that his father gave to him, he—like he always does—researched. He found the one vehicle that he was totally ga-ga for and can recite every detail about it, from where it came from, its engine power, its gas mileage and why the window controls are in the center instead of on the door (and since I’m his girlfriend, so can I). His Halo and Xbox accounts are named after it. When introduced to neighbors, he was referred to as “the guy with the black car,” to a nodding response of “Ohhh, yea.”
So this beloved car, that he purchased with his own money and has cared for through the winter (even though it killed him to drive it with all the salt on the roads), was in danger. A torpedo was in the water, and it was a wind-propelled Wal-Mart buggy aimed right at us.
I saw it first, heading directly at me in the front passenger seat. I gasped, “Oh no!” My protection instincts took over. With reflexes like a fucking ninja, I opened the door as quickly as I could and tried to put myself between the buggy and Rayce’s four-wheeled darling. I held out my hands to take the blow of the shopping cart as it speeded its way to impact. I managed to stop it right before it hit the opened door. My right hand hurt from the force.
And that was it. I laughed about how close of a call that was and walked the buggy back to the cart-rack so it wouldn’t get caught again in the wind.
When I get back to the car to get my purse, Rayce is standing by his car with the driver’s door still open. He says four words that made me feel like the best girlfriend in the world.
“You are fucking awesome.”
The look on his face was priceless. He was impressed/shocked/happy/excited. He told me (and I truly believe him) that he never loved me as much as he did in that moment. He wanted to buy me something.
It’s crazy the things that you love about a person. I don’t love the fact that Rayce makes me walk such a long ways because he parks so far from the door. I don’t love having to talk him out of buying something for his car (which I do far less now than I did back when he had his truck). I don’t love when it takes him all weekend to detail his car.
But I do respect him for it. It’s who he is, and he will never change. All I can do is support him, because I love him and know how important it is to him.
I will gladly step in front of 500 shopping carts in order to keep him happy.
Posted by Kera at 10/30/2010 11:09 PM 
Categories: Personal Reflections
Tags: girlfriend why you love someone shopping cart incident car truck guy
Categories: Personal Reflections
Tags: girlfriend why you love someone shopping cart incident car truck guy
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