“I bought us a truck,” my husband announced one night as he walked into the house after a day at the office.
My daughters reacted to the news as if we’d just announced a candy-only dinner, a week off of school, and a trip to the beach, combined: a squealing, jumping, hands-in-the-air impromptu dance party. The first two questions they articulated were:
“What color is it?” and, “Can we ride in the back?”
“It’s black,” he answered. “We’ll call it the Death Star.”
Just like that, we became the owners of a pickup truck.
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