break into my Husband's truck.
BTW, I chose this color b/c the truck had a racing stripe this same shade.
I have to back up and explain why I did something monumentally careless.
My Daddy [God Love him] and his Daddy[God love him, too] knew a lot of things. But they knew almost nothing about what they were looking at when they popped the hood of a car. And other than how to change a tire, and how to put gas in a car, they taught me nothing about cars.
Neither my first husband or my second husband, who knew how to pull, rebuild and replace an engine, corrected this deficit in my education. As a matter of fact, the husband in question used to tell me, "Don't worry about the car, I'll take care of the car." OK, fine.
Except when I got my CJ-7, he didn't take care of the maintenence. His idea of taking care of it would be to say something like, "you need to get the oil changed". But he'd say it while I was fixin' dinner, or bathin' two kids, or writin' a paper.
At the time he was workin' 40 hrs/week. I, on the other hand, was goin to school full time, and takin' care of 2 kids, and keepin house. So when he would say somethin' like that once every 5-6 months when I was busy with somethin else, it would go in one ear and out the other.
So, now that I've rationalized my carelessness, long story short, I blew the engine in my CJ-7. It hadn't had an oil change in 2.5 years. The oil in the pan was the consistency of chocolate puddin'. How many of you just shuddered?
While it's gettin fixed, I'm drivin' his truck.
I'm out doin' home visits one evening, but rather than out in the middle of nowhere, I'm in the city. This parolee, named Greg, lived on the edge of the "Projects". In fact, he lived a couple of streets over from Colored Man. He lived with his Daddy and I had been to see him before, this was just a routine 1/3months visit. I forget what he had gone to prison for, but if I was only seeing him once every three months he must have been doing pretty good on his parole.
Since it's my husband's truck, he had wanted me to lock it whenever I got out and wasn't going to be within sight of it "at all times". So I dutifully get out of the truck, lock it, and go up to Greg's door. I go inside, do the home visit, and go back out to the truck.
Reach in my pocket and NO KEYS. I look in the window, there they are, dangling from the ignition.
I go back to Greg's door and ask him if I can have a coat hanger. He looks at me funny, so I point to the truck and with a great deal of embarrassment admit that I've locked the keys inside the truck. He laughs at my predicament and tells me, "I can get in that truck in a jiffy. Those old Fords are easy."
Sure enough, he walked out and with a metal ruler and had the door open in about 5 seconds.
I thanked him and he said, "Sure."
I've never told anybody this story.