My Cursed Truck

I love my truck. Anyone who knows me can vouch for that fact. It’s probably going to cost me my first born-child, my right arm and taken 10 years off my life, but I love the gas guzzler nonetheless.

Since the day I brought Rambo home (yes, I named my truck Rambo), I tried my absolute best to protect him. I rubbed him with a cloth, shooed birds away and parked him in a garage as often as possible. But alas, my efforts were for naught. Rambo is cursed.

Cursed beyond belief. Cursed worse than some gypsy woman doing her worst could have done.  I have had him for a grand total of 8 months, and in that amount of time he’s been in six (count them, SIX) accidents of sorts. Six. I think that might be some sort of record.

I bought Rambo because I was enamored with big, strong trucks. Call it the Texas influence. A girl, perched six feet off the ground, higher than everyone around me … I couldn’t resist. At the time, right before the gas balloon swelled beyond recognition, I thought a 12 mpg truck was a wise investment. Joke's on me! (See my article of several months ago: "Meet Rambo")

Since almost day one, poor Rambo has incurred the wrath of the Gods. Three days into my ownership, a rock chipped the windshield, forcing its replacement. Then, unable to properly maneuver my massive vehicle, I backed into a Mercedes in a parking lot. Soon after, a valet scratched my black beauty against a garage wall.

Next in Pandora’s Box, I parked too close to a BMW and took off its mirror. Then, some good Samaritan later backed into Rambo while he was unoccupied, and failed to leave a note.

Last but not least in the endless stream of car-related horrors, the bungees I used to secure my belongings during my latest move scratched the paint across the bed.

So is there a lesson to be learned from Rambo’s misfortunes? Perhaps. Perhaps in my tireless effort to protect Rambo and ensure his impeccable condition, I incurred the curse. Hold too tightly to something and it slips through your fingers, isn‘t that what they say?

Maybe the universe was saying-let it go. Nothing in life is pristine. The damage will be fixed, eventually. But in the meantime, learn to deal with imperfection.

Point well taken, universe. I’m trying my best. If there‘s one thing I‘ve learned in my 25 years, it‘s that life is imperfect, and so are people. And obviously, pick-up trucks are too.

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