Richard's first lady love needs a heart transplant. The engine on his beloved 1989 Bronco II finally beat her last piston pump. He bought the new vehicle just before we met, so I have always considered it the valiant steed of my knight in shining armor. She was with us through Richard's heart transplant, waiting for him as he recuperated. She is the vehicle into which we packed all the plans for the Higgins boats to save them from Hurricane Katrina for the National World War II Museum.
Richard lost his head over me, his heart to a congenital defect, our home, and his workshop with all of his tools to Hurricane Katrina. My fears for his health even forced him to leave his heavenly holler in the mountains of Tennessee. I simply couldn't bear to see him lose the last thing he has from our early days together.
Unbeknownst to me, he secretly planned to replace the engine when the Bronco II reached her classic status. He did confess, however, that he actually thought he'd be dead before that decision had to be made. He will be seventy-one by then and always believed that statistics would kill him by the time he's seventy-two. I insist that the new heart gave him many more years than statistics do.
Hear we are facing a great decision, to deal with car salesmen or to fix our faithful steed. Replacing her heart wins hands down for me. We had a friend who paid over $100,000 to restore a classic car. Richard's Bronco II is only two years from classic car designation. We will only have to spend around $8,000 to get her back to being beautiful and functional.
I do have the provision that since we are spending that kind of money, we will also spring for a paint job and that he has to scrub twenty-three years of meals eaten and coffee spilled in his vehicle off the upholstery and carpet. As Fernando Lamas said, "It's not how good you feel; it's how good you look."
Richard's now trying to figure a way to explain all this rationally. He just can't admit that he can do things simply based on emotion. I keep reminding him that he'd have never married at the age of forty-nine if he had stayed rational. And I like to encourage him to take care of his ladies even as they grow old and don't work so well. I wish we could spend $8,000 on me and have me almost good as new.
Richard lost his head over me, his heart to a congenital defect, our home, and his workshop with all of his tools to Hurricane Katrina. My fears for his health even forced him to leave his heavenly holler in the mountains of Tennessee. I simply couldn't bear to see him lose the last thing he has from our early days together.
Unbeknownst to me, he secretly planned to replace the engine when the Bronco II reached her classic status. He did confess, however, that he actually thought he'd be dead before that decision had to be made. He will be seventy-one by then and always believed that statistics would kill him by the time he's seventy-two. I insist that the new heart gave him many more years than statistics do.
Hear we are facing a great decision, to deal with car salesmen or to fix our faithful steed. Replacing her heart wins hands down for me. We had a friend who paid over $100,000 to restore a classic car. Richard's Bronco II is only two years from classic car designation. We will only have to spend around $8,000 to get her back to being beautiful and functional.
I do have the provision that since we are spending that kind of money, we will also spring for a paint job and that he has to scrub twenty-three years of meals eaten and coffee spilled in his vehicle off the upholstery and carpet. As Fernando Lamas said, "It's not how good you feel; it's how good you look."
Richard's now trying to figure a way to explain all this rationally. He just can't admit that he can do things simply based on emotion. I keep reminding him that he'd have never married at the age of forty-nine if he had stayed rational. And I like to encourage him to take care of his ladies even as they grow old and don't work so well. I wish we could spend $8,000 on me and have me almost good as new.
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