as ruby and i were driving home from the bowling alley tonight we had a little conversation.

“ruby,” i said, “do you ever wish you were a supersize truck instead of a mini bite-size truck?”

“no,” she said, “i’m a girl. girlie trucks don’t need to be all big and stuff. ‘sides, i do believe, that the people who drive those monsterish trucks are making up for some inadequacy in their lives.”

“people give me a lot of shit for driving you ruby,” i said.

“well those people like to be snooty and judgmental. ain’t nothin’ wrong with driving a truck. besides what other vehicle will leave the radio on for you after you shut the car off? what other vehicle will turn your headlights on for you? what other vehicle will warn you when you’re being a dumbass and leave the blinker on too long? nobody! you and i were meant to be together jodi chromey.”

“i love you ruby.”

then i decided to stop talking to myself. because you know, ruby can’t really talk.