The Eruption of Man

If you have sensed a change in the air, a shift in the cosmos, or perhaps a rumbling of something new in the general direction of Vernal, your senses are quite on track. Since November when Duane first began believing in the changing of the stars, he has been like a cat on the prowl. He could be found with red eyes glaring and mouse fingers clicking while he scoured the neverland of cyberspace dreams for the one last thing that would confirm his existence as a man. And...then it happened. He had finally found what he had been searching for for so very long. He found his long awaited for truck.

I am sure he barely slept a wink as he eyeballed the alarm clock just waiting for the semi-goodness me!-aweful hour of 5:30 a.m. to wake his incapacitated and unconcious wife--me--so that we could hit the road to get to the car dealer before anyone else got the notion that they wanted to become a man that day as well. As we drove into the lot just as they opened their doors, we saw IT. I do believe, because I have seen it in his eyes before (well, maybe it wasn't at first sight--he did take a year or two of convincing when it came to me), that it was love at first sight. I had an odd sensation sitting next to this man in the passenger seat of my hotrod Toyota. If I hadn't known better, I would actually say that his jawline became more defined and a little baby fat that he'd been holding on to for the past forty-something years miraculously fell from his cute little cheaks simply because the grin that spread across his face would not allow for any more room than that smile--a very, very manly smile of course. And, was that a sparkle of twinkle in his eye!?

It wasn't long before we were sitting high above the scampering eco-friendly mini cars prancing around our tires like hyper French poodles as we took to the road for a test drive. The Truck, named Testosterone by me, rumbled a gentle (but manly!) rumble as it practically hovered down the road. I looked at Duane. He looked at me. Again that smile. "I like it," he says. I did a double-take glance at him because I saw his lips move but the voice that came forth was quite burley and husky--the voice of a big ole lumberjack that was not afraid to wear red and black checked flannel shirts into a Macy's department store! And, I do swear that as the last word fell from his lips, I saw a patch of black curly chest hair protude through the gaps of his shirt where buttons now clung on to dear life before being flung hither and thither with the burgeoning of his chest.

Six short hours later a rather large leatherly fur-covered hand was extended from the man I married as he recieved the coveted golden key to his new forest green Dodge 1500 4x4. He and the salesman grunted at each other as we parted ways. I didn't understand what was said but assumed it was some kind of new man-language that only people with trucks could understand. I followed him out the door in awe. His chest and shoulders were broader (they had to be to hold that huge patch of man-hair on his chest!) and his usual boyish gait had turned into a strut that any rooster would be proud of. I hopped into my Rav and turned to him for a quick peck on the cheek before he left to get into his new man-truck. Well, I tell you! That was no normal been-married-thirty-one-years peck on the cheek! All I can say is, if you think the best part of a romance novel is the cover (ohhh...Fabio!), get your man a truck! As I struggled to catch my breath, he turned and said in his new burly voice, "I'm a man now...I've got a truck!" Boy, oh boy. Why the heck didn't get get him a big ole rumbling truck years and years ago!?