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| Image courtesy of The Fast and the Furious, The Movie |
Neither did I.
But apparently, I have been living my life in denial because we are just one rice burning car away from making another chapter to that movie......minus the steroids and gaggle of Asian skanks.
Why am I writing this today? Because yesterday I came home with a bit of rage-ohol over something Bayou did to my car a while ago and I have fucking had it.
See....my first real car purchase, on my own, after college, was the '99 Trans AM that I still drive to this day. I was interested in a sportier car and had my eye on a Mustang, but under Bayou's vast knowledge of all things car, was persuaded to instead purchase the TA.
I loved it.
I felt like Adam Sandler in Billy Madison...
Everything was fine until I realized that while my husband wasn't interested in typical guy things like Football and fantasy leagues(thank god), he is very interested in the finer things in life.
Nascar, F1, and movies like Fast and the Fuckheads.
Every time that movie comes on TBS his eyes light up like it's something important like a new episode of Rachel Zoe or Housewives of the O.C.
Just as we made the final payment on that car, I overheard Bayou speaking with his brother about getting lights for the TA.
That's odd....the headlights are working just fine...whatever could they be talking about?
These my friends. He was talking about these embarrassing things.
I straight up tell him no.
No way, no how, would he be putting those things on my car. I haven't even learned how to make my muffler overly obnoxiously loud or how to properly "drift." We can't jump the gun and be posers!
He tried to convince me again by telling me they can change colors!! Silly me!
But he didn't listen to my pleads.
Instead, what he did was take my car to his shop to "change the oil" and when he returned home....the entire underside was lit up with a glowing blue light.
I was livid.
I put up with this nonsense for 6 years. 6 years people!! Just so him and his buddies could hang out in the garage with the car lit up and stare and "remember the good times" and act cool.
Fast forward to yesterday, when, amongst dealing with clunky rain boots I managed to kick on these lights and the entire inside was glowing DURING THE DAY, ON MY DRIVE TO WORK.
$%*^$%YI@$(TY$%TL$#!!!
I call him. (Mind you, I think we have had this conversation at least 30 times in the past, and I actually HAVE asked nicely hoping he would get the hint)
Me: You need to get these mothafuckin' Asian rice burning pieces of shit lights off my car.
Bayou: Wow. Nice to hear from you.
Me: I'm serious. I'm almost 30 and I have never once agreed to or liked these pieces of shit...and now I can't turn them off!!!
Bayou: There is a switch by your left foot...can you press it?
Me: Well I can't do that AND talk on the phone!!!
(And I hang up in a huffy)
I came to my senses after turning them off finally and nearly steering off the road.
Called him back to apologize for my fit of rage.
Then....I get home from the train and am driving home.
I have Jesus Jugs in front of me driving 5-10 mph under the speed limit and I JUST. WANT. TO GET. HOME. PEOPLE. And wouldn't you know? I managed to turn those fucking lights on and off three more times in the process.
That's it.
I storm through the door and say, in my nicest lady like voice possible:
"YOU HAVE UNTIL THE WEEKEND TO GET THE LIGHTS OFF MY CAR OR I WILL RIP THEM APART AND CHOP THEM INTO A MILLION PIECES AND THEN BURN THEM AND LAUGH"
Seems reasonable right?
Well guess who threw a Goddamn fit and pouted the rest of the night because I smashed our dreams and ruined all the fun forever and always?
Bayou. He proclaimed that I "didn't know how hard he worked to get them on" and "How I hate fun" and other nonsense.
To which I reminded him that he did this behind my back and has never once driven with them on because they are ILLEGAL and WE ARE IN OUR 30's!!!
He DID however, take them off right away, which was awesome.
His pouting was followed by scurrying up to bed an hour early without saying goodnight.
Sigh.....I can't win. Or did I win? I won. Yes....I won.
The End.
TBag. Out.
