Nearly seven years ago, passing through D.C.’s Rock Creek Park on (at the time) pothole-laden Military Rd., our Corolla lost its hubcap.
Our car’s lack of a hubcap has been the subject of many a marital… discussion. I wanted a new hubcap. My husband, ever-thrifty, thought it superfluous.
“It’s ugly!” I’d cry.
“Just think, now no one will steal it,” he’d reply.
“No one would’ve stolen it anyway.”
“Well, then, we’re saving fifteen bucks.”
Seeing that he was in graduate school and I was teaching in a Catholic school (not exactly the largest of salaries), fifteen bucks was fifteen bucks. But, then again, it was fifteen bucks. You understand me.
Luckily, when we moved to Oregon to be with my family, I found a comrade in my father. “Why don’t you just go out an get a hubcap?” he said to my husband. “It’d be a decent looking car if you did.”
The Professor just chuckled.
Well, my parents took pity on me. Monday was my birthday, and, in celebration, Dad ordered a replacement hubcap. It arrived today.
Here’s The Professor putting it on:
Like a brand-new car!
Now, don’t think that The Professor would let my getting my way after a seven-year… discussion… go down that easy. “For my birthday,” he joked, “I want the hubcap removed!”
(Thanks for the present, Mom and Dad!)