In which Kevin wants a truck

by Lorin Michel Wednesday, July 6, 2016 8:41 PM

On our first date, Kevin and I met at a place called Yankee Doodle in Woodland Hills. It was 6 o'clock on a Wednesday, and we were only going to have a drink. Yankee Doodle was convenient. I worked in Woodland Hills at the time; he lived in Woodland Hills.

Neither of us had been there and we quickly deduced that neither of us liked it. We never even sat down. It was a pool hall of sorts and had zero atmosphere. It was noisy, the music was too loud. It simply wasn't conducive to having a drink and talking. We walked back out into the parking lot and decided where we’d go instead. After a few minutes, we came up with a place called Monty’s, also in Woodland Hills and on the Boulevard. We also decided to take one car. 

In my divorce, I got one of the two Porsches, the 944, while husband number one got his precious 911. I was fine with that; the 944 had always been mine. But I wasn’t making very much money at the time and when the car rolled 100,000 miles, it started costing me a ton. I had to replace the clutch. I had to replace the water pump, and other things. So I made the painful decision to part with it. In its place, I got a Mazda MX-6, the single most boring car on the planet. Or maybe it was just because I’d been used to driving something dynamic.

Kevin and I stood in the parking lot and he said, “I’ll drive.” And I said, “where’s your car?” He pointed to a gray Mitsubishi pickup truck. The disappointment must have registered on my face. Me, in a pickup, simply did not compute. (In addition to being a hotel snob, I’m also a bit of a car snob.) Needless to say, we went to Monty’s in the pickup. It was the first of three dates just that week, and from then on we were together nearly non-stop, pickup notwithstanding. Not too long after, he sold his pickup and bought a BMW.

What he’d always wanted was a 1990 Land Cruiser FJ62, and several years later, he got one. It was gorgeous. Mint. But the ride was rough. Eventually we sold it for something a bit more refined. But we’ve always missed it, much like I always missed my Porsche. 

I eventually replaced the Mazda, first with a used BMW 325i and then I replaced that with a brand new 328i. Once I was working at home, I couldn’t justify having a car payment for something that sat in the garage most of the time. I turned in the Beemer, found a 1987 944 Turbo on ebay and bought it. That was in 2000. It’s been a phenomenal car; fast. Sexy. And we’ve had fun with it.

When I decided I also needed – needed – a Range Rover, we sold the Land Cruiser. We’ve had three Land Rovers since, a Discovery Series II, the first Range Rover that we affectionately call R1, and the current Range Rover Sport. My pride and joy, the current love of my car-life. It’s our go-to car. Our “daily” driver, the one we can always count on. It’s not practical, but it’s wonderful.

Kevin has taken to using it as his truck, putting bags of mortar, hauling rocks, putting trash cans stuffed with brush and debris into the back. And me being the anal-retentive car-freak that I am, doesn’t like it. It’s a beautiful car, an expensive car, and even though mechanics commonly refer to Rovers as trucks, I prefer to think of it as a limousine that can climb a tree.

So Kevin wants a truck. More importantly, he needs a truck. So lately we’ve been talking that maybe it’s time to sell the Porsche, which is fun but also not practical, and get him something that he can bomb around in on the weekends, go to Lowes or Home Depot or Ace or the rock store or the dump or wherever he needs to go and he can load in wood and dirt and rocks and mortar and trash and whatever he wants. And I won’t care and he won’t worry about me caring. 

We’re going to go back to a 1990 Land Cruiser FJ62, once we find one. It’s serendipitous, it’s cyclical. It’s perfect. Because Kevin wants a truck. He needs a truck. He deserves a truck.

And so the car adventures continue.  

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