Bucking Bronco (Replace the B in Bucking With An F)

When I met my future husband, he drove an early nineties model Ford Bronco. Think the famous OJ Simpson chase, except his was a weird grayish color and had a Power of Pride American flag sticker on the back dented bumper. It was only 3 months post 9-11. Even 20 year old weed heads were patriotic at that time.

Boyfriend loved that damn Bronco. I hated it. The heavy top rattled with every bump in the road. The seats were always cold. The CD player always manged to "short out" at the best part of songs. A putrid smell of stagnant beer made you queasy upon entering the beast. Throughout the summer of 2002, it looked as if an angry falcon had molested my head. This was because he kept the hard top off during the summer. Rain or shine.

Boyfriend finally traded in the Bronco for a beautiful new Chevrolet truck. No rattling. Heated seats. XM radio. No putrid beer stench...well not as much. No more falcon rape tangled head. I was in love. And I was convinced that I could share the rest of my life with this person...and this truck.

But Boyfriend vowed that he would have another Bronco some day. 

Two years ago, Hubs showed me his latest Craigslist find. Yes, Bronco. This wasn't a cheesy OJ Simpson getaway car, though. This was a vintage Bronco. Way back from the year 1971. I could deal with a vintage ride instead of just an old 90s model ride. I mean, the coach in "Dazed and Confused" drove this thing. I am a bigger fan of Coach Conrad than OJ Simpson (even if he didn't want the boys to get Aerosmith tickets). And it was cheap. And it would be Hubs' project. And he could stay out in his shop all hours of the night to work on it and leave me the hell alone.

Yeah, I had hated the previous Bronco, but I had matured by eight years. I now realized that my husband harbored a weird love for the Ford Bronco. I realized that he needed a hobby. I realized that I should be a good wife and let him buy this baby.

I didn't realize just how terrible the condition of this 1971 Bronco was until Hubs told me that it was going to be towed to our house. Towed? He couldn't drive it home after he purchased it? No,it was completely un-drivable. And I think it only had three tires.

Godzilla's Fecal Matter

When I pulled into our driveway, 8 months pregnant, and saw the massive heap, I nearly went into labor. This was beyond a rust bucket. It looked like Godzilla had popped a squat in our driveway and left a rusted green pile of shit behind. I had never seen anything in such terrible shape. Only Fred Flintstone could operate the thing, seeing as how there were gaping holes in the floorboard.

Our son was born and Hubs was so busy doing what I told him to do to help with the baby that he hadn't made time for old green Nessy out in the garage. I actually felt bad for him.  With my blessing, he skipped out to his shop to begin the renovation. That was May, 2010.

New paint job? 42 cans of black spray paint would do the trick.

Hey, instead of worrying about those bad ass wheels and tires you want to purchase, why don't we address the yellow asbestos-laden foam spewing out of the 40 year old seats and dashboard? Why is the CD player "shorting out" at the chorus of "Evenflow"?  Do I hear the rattling of a roof? I smell Pabst Blue Ribbon. You don't drink Pabst Blue Ribbon! Oh, THAT is the smell of beer that belonged to the original owner back in 71?

Hey, where are you going, Mister? I am trying to cook dinner, the boy is pulling on my legs with a gallon of butt mud in his Pamper, the girl needs you to do your magic with one of those twelve remotes and make the Wii work, and you think you are going out to the shop to work on that damn Bronco?

I guarantee you he is saying "Son of a Bitch!"

And once there was light at the end of the restoration tunnel, and Hubs came bounding through the back door with a Cheshire cat grin, exclaiming that the Bronco was finally running, it would quit. Again. And again. And again.

How many times can we replace the carburetor, honey?

Could you at least shower the gasoline and oil smell off your ass before you expect me to spoon with you?

Thousands, and I mean thousands, of dollars have gone into restoring this relic. Wives have been neglected. Children have been exposed to toxic muffler fumes. New cuss words have been invented.  Man hours are at infinity plus one. Auto Zone employees receive Christmas cards from us. The Bronco has taken over my husband's life. It still only runs half the time. It is March 2012. 

I have to admit, though, that one day last summer (when it was working) and we cruised along the scenic Tennessee River in the warm, summer wind, I didn't really mind that I was breaking out in hives from the yellow foam against my legs. I didn't mind that I could see the asphalt roaring under my flip flops. I didn't mind that the horny head obsessed falcon was back. I actually just enjoyed being with my husband-hives, severed toe, rat nest hair and all. 

I surely hate to admit it, but I think that damn Bronco has brought us together. He's spent so much time with it that I now really value the time he spends with me. Cheesy, isn't it?

And I think my son will be a total stud muffin driving the thing in 16 years. If it is running by then.

Eh, I guess it is alright.
Note there is a box beneath it.
There is always a box beneath it.