On our way to pick up our grandson, Jeremy, from school the other day, my husband Joey and I saw a pickup truck that our little man would have called “GINORMOUS!”
It was one of the most giant trucks I have ever seen on the road. I was taken aback by its enormity as it pulled onto the highway in front of us. “That’s the new Ram 3500 Laramie, sporting all the bells and whistles,” Joey said with envy in his eyes.
“Besides those full-sized 22-inch dually tires with custom rims, that 4×4 beast can carry a house and tow another one at the same time.”
The owner must have also put as much power into his audio system because I could literally feel his bass in our car.
It was definitely a vehicle my hubby was immediately attracted to. Although Mr. Clean quickly clarified that it would never be that dirty if it were his. Unless, of course, he was on his way to the car wash. Although it looked brand new, the truck was painted pretty deep with dirt, sand, and mud. So much so that someone had written WASH ME with a smiley face on the tailgate.
At the first red light we stopped at, I couldn’t help but stretch to stare up at the black-tinted driver’s side window. I imagined a big, burly, good ole boy sitting behind the steering wheel. Joey, however, was leaning more towards the driver being some small-framed, nerd guy trying to overcompensate for life’s shortcomings. Still, I just couldn’t get over the size of his tires and how they came up to the top of my window frame. Not to mention, the tow ball was high enough to be a hood ornament on Joey’s truck. It made me feel like I was beside him in a miniaturized toy car.
By the next red light, when we caught back up to him, I was now lost in figuring out what his custom license plate meant. Something I do when driving alone to kill boredom or to keep my eyes off the road when Joey’s driving.
“SHR GRL” were the letters on his “Explore the Road” Florida vanity tag. I kept thinking, “Shrimp Grill.” Maybe he’s a fisherman down in the Keys.
When we slowed down to wait for the arrow to change so we could turn left onto the school grounds, I noticed something on the front of the truck that made me take a double-take. Not just a head turn, but a full-on whiplash. “Was I ever wrong,” I whispered without realizing I now intrigued my husband.
“What? You wrong? Please confess,” Joey questioned with a smirk.
“Nothing,” I said, not wanting to admit my wrong.
Yet, even while it passed us by at 50 miles per hour, I clearly recognized the front plate. It was the exact one I have hanging on the wall in my office at home that reads: “JERSEY GIRL!”
Sadly, I would have bet my life the owner of this vehicle was a backwoods, off-road, redneck mad MAN! But I would have been dead wrong. It just goes to show you should never judge a book by its cover or a motorist by their wheels.
Lisa DeMarco is a columnist for Villages-News.com
