My husband Alex loves a bargain.
Well, I do too for that matter. When I find some Coach pumps at 35% off, I jump on them.
Where Alex and I differ is in our determination of what constitutes a bargain.
A number of years ago, Alex had a friend who was moving out of the area. He wanted to sell his 1978 Datsun for the ridiculously low price of $500. I asked Alex how many miles it had on it and he said about 200,000. Wow! That's a lot of miles.
Yeah, it is, Alex agreed. But his "friend" had assured him that the car "ran great". I asked what color it was and Alex replied, "Pale yellow. It needs a little body work though." Uh huh. So I remarked "Alex, it sounds like a hooptie."
Alex scoffed and told me I was just being stuck up. At the time, he had a new Mazda Miata and he needed a bigger car for some things. Arguing with my husband after he's made up his mind about something is fruitless, so I went and poured myself a morning Bloody Mary.
Alex called his friend and said, "I'll buy it!" and his friend drove the car over to our house. When I looked outside, I could hardly believe my eyes. This was the ugliest, most foul, and stupidest looking car I had ever seen. Alex paid his friend for the car, got the pink slip and drove his friend back home, asking me if I wanted to "test it out" with him. I shook my head no and waved him goodbye and poured another Bloody Mary. (Don't be so judgmental. It was close to noon by then.)
When Alex got back, he mentioned that the car had a couple of little things he would have to fix but assured me it's really a great little car! I asked if the rust would be easy to fix and he grinned and said "Not a problem!". I said I'd rather be caught dead than to be caught riding in that piece of shit car. Alex started pouting and saying that I'd change my mind after I took a ride in it.
Since I hate it when he pouts, I said fine. Let's go. Getting into the car, I noticed something really funny. The car smelled like chickens. Now don't get me wrong, the smell of fried chicken is lovely. This was the smell of dirty live chickens or maybe dirty dead chickens, or even dirty dead chicken feet. It reeked of chickens. I nearly gagged.
Alex still grinning got in the car and took a look at my face and said "What?" I asked him if he had noticed that the car smelled. Alex assured me that he would wash it and "clean it up" when we got home.
No matter what he did, he could never get rid of the chicken smell. The bad thing is, when the car smells like that, people who ride in the car smell like that too. One ride in the chicken car was enough for me.
Alex gave the chicken car to charity about 3 weeks later. Some bargain!