My Love is Bigger than a Subaru

There’s a list of advantages to only spending weekends with the spouse.  Surprise visits is not one of them.

We have a running “joke”.  She occassionally texts me.

“Let me know when you are coming home, so I can tell my boyfriend to leave.”

Ha, Ha, Ha…  She thinks it’s fucking hilarious.  Like the death threats, it always makes me just a little nervous.

I used to tell my 9th graders,  it’s only funny when you are laughing with somebody — not at them.  That bullshit text is swimming across the border from with to at

I came back to Gilbert on a Friday morning for a doctor’s appointment.  I forgot about it and didn’t tell The Bear.

Left Tucson at 5 a.m. — roll up to the house at 7 a.m..  I almost drove past.  There’s a strange new Subaru parked next to the driveway.


It’s not a Savage car.  No one in my family has a blue Subaru.  It’s got Oregon plates.

  • WTF… the texts are not a joke?
  • I’d feel a lot fucking better if it was a Miata…  but a god damn Subaru?
  • Is the boyfriend the funny part?
  • She did play college volleyball — have we been living a lie since 1984?
  • Were the Savages right about her “female friends” all along?
  • Am I the oldest and dumbest beard on the planet?

I may not want to see what the hell is going on in there.  Fuck that. I don’t care if everyone in the family calls it “her” house.  It’s my fucking house too.

If there is a “friend”, am I going to start kicking asses or just walk out and cry?  The Boy left a bunch of metal pipes in the garage (I don’t know what the fuck they are for).  I was  thinking about grabbing a pipe…

I leave it behind.

I walk in the door.  House looks like it always looks. Sounds like it always sounds.  The Bear comes down the hall half-dressed and surprised to see me — but not too surprised — just a mild “ohh you’re home early” kind of reaction.

I don’t sense anyone else in the house —  it’s just us. After what feels like a long enough pause, I ask, “Who’s fucking Subaru is that?”

“Ohh,” she said.  ‘That’s one of the Boy’s friend’s.  They were flying out for that bachelor party, and he needed a place to park.”

Punctuation is important here people — an apostrophe and a space make this shit a whole lot easier to swallow.  One of the boy’s friends is completely different than the boyfriend…

New Target

Then I switch targets for my old, white-man anger.

God damn douchebag millennials don’t know that dudes shouldn’t drive Subaru’s — it confuses us old folks.  If it had been a Mustang or a pickup truck, it would have been far less shocking.

And those cheap lazy bastards still lean on us for free shit — parking would have been $12 at the airport…

My fucking blood pressure is worth the $12. I would have paid the fucking parking fee to avoid this little surprise.

Note to self — always text the Bear when you are coming home.  If there is some funky shit going down in the city — I’m taking the Matrix blue pill (so to speak).  Better to be in blissful ignorance than to learn we have been living a lie for 35 years.


PS — can you guess the Springsteen “inspired” line/song for the headline?

If you can, you have wasted a significant portion of your youth. I’m looking at you Condo

10 replies »

  1. At least you didn’t take one of those pipes and bash the car in, before learning all the facts. On the other hand, maybe you should have. Would’ve taught your boy’s friend to pay the $12 airport fee.


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