Let’s Swing an Episode

1ABAB5A4-9F3E-4C97-B918-61BE87269D90Scene: Early evening, I’m at work, about 20 miles from home. My husband calls. He doesn’t sound happy.

H: How’s your minivan?
Me: Fine.
Me: Yup.
H: You sure?
 (At this point I realize it’s a set-up. Not only have I done something, I have no idea what it is. Only 1 thing to do; I’m doubling down)
Me: Yup. Well, I’m at work, and it’s pretty busy, so…
(And at this point, he knows I know I did something, and he knows I probably don’t know what it is, so he’s calling my bluff)
H: Go check.
Me: It’s raining
Him: I know it’s raining.
H: How’s the bumper?
Me: Fine.
H: Fine?
(We’ve been married a long time. This could take awhile. Meanwhile, my boss is standing next to me, also married a long time, and he knows I’m in trouble and he can’t wait to find out what I did)
Me: Fine (Just one last one- I couldn’t resist)
H: It’s not fine because I just picked it up off the driveway.
Me: Our driveway? (I’m buying time)
H: Yes, our driveway
(At this point, I text our neighbor. I’m remembering a noise when I pulled out of the driveway, could’ve been anything really, but I’m curious if that noise might’ve somehow been related to the bumper falling off, and if there were witnesses. Also, I need to make sure if I did something really stupid to make the bumper fall off and he saw it, he doesn’t go and try to yuck it up with my husband, because that would make things ever so much worse. )
H: Joe saw.
Me: OK. I’ll go check. I’l call you back.
So now I have to tell my boss that I need to run out to the parking lot to see if the bumper is on my car, or if maybe by some miracle, the UPS guy lost his bumper on my driveway. This is about the best thing he’s ever heard in his whole life, and he insists on coming with me, out in the rain, to check my minivan. Neither of us are surprised to find I’ve been driving around, sans bumper, for the past several hours.
I call my husband back.
Me: I don’t have a bumper.
H: No fucking kidding.
M: Itsnotmyfaultidontknowwhathappenediguesstheziptiesfinallygaveoutdoyouthinkyoucanreattachit
(Oh, yeah, BTW, I should mention that the bumper was previously attached to my flossy whip via zip ties that my husband threaded through holes that  he drilled. So before you go judging, check your facts).
By this point my boss has told half a dozen different men about the bumper, and a crowd has gathered in the parking lot and they’re laughing really fucking hard.
M: Do I even need a bumper? Like to drive? Because I made it here fine.
So that’s how I got the silver truck.
End Scene.

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