In our house, the price of a .99 burrito just went up. Way up. Like may-take-months-to-pay-for-it way up.

February 19, 2015 in Crap I Was Considerate Enough to Not Bother You with Before Now.

It’s no secret.  I’ve never blown a baby through my lady parts.

Wanted to when I was in my 20’s…but it just never happened.

But I wanted a baby regardless.

As I aged, that desire took a back seat to life.  I was older.  I didn’t have the energy.  Then I found myself single and broker than broke.

Then I met a man I fell in love with and married.

Who had a 14-year-old girl.

Now that 14-year-old girl is a 16-year-old girl.

(A TEENAGER.)

(But I thought, “Here’s my chance at having that baby!  And she’s past the 4:00 am feedings and none of my shirts will have baby puke stains on them!”)

I’ve heard horror stories of how teenagers can drive you to the brink of gauging your eyes out.  And banging your head on the wall.  And questioning your mere existence.

(I’ve heard it said that the teenage years clearly explain why animals eat their young.)

(Yes.  I now get that.  It makes complete sense to me at times.)

When many heard I married a man with a teenager, I heard:

“Oh, girl.  I’ll pray for you.”

“Are you sure you want to jump in that fire?  Teenagers are a breed of their own nobody understands.”

“What the hell are you thinking?”

Teenager Jello

I laughed it off.

In the last almost 2 years of my marriage…I have prayed more than I ever have in my life, I can never quite understand what is going on in her head and I question what is in mine, and I’ve muttered under my breath as I raise my head from the cabinet I just slammed it down on, “what the hell are you thinking?”

(On a serious note…she’s exceptionally good to me.  She’s never been disrespectful, she’s never raised her voice, she’s always done anything I’ve asked without any eye-rolling or huffing and puffing.)

(But teenagers can be a mind game.  Last week, twice I heard, “I love you” without even saying it first.  Prior to that I was told I tell her I love her too much and I’m too affectionate.)

(I walk around in a daze with a puzzled look on my face most of the time.)

(But with her daddy?  Uh…yeah, she’s sweet.  But he gets more of an attitude than I ever do.)

(He handles it like a pro though.  I guess it’s the cop in him.)

(He’s told me handling teenagers can be a lot like wrangling criminals.)

Anyway.

Just before she started driving, she INSISTED (because remember…teenagers know everything and we’re just idiots) she was going to drive her dad’s F250 4-wheel drive truck.

(I think she just wanted to be the cool chick on campus with the big truck like the boys.)

I suggested against it because (and like a fool, I used reason with her):

1.  “Well, that’s a lot of truck for a new driver.  You could back up over a toddler and never know it then we have to live with that for the rest of our lives.”

2.  “It takes a lot of diesel to fill that thing up…are you sure that’s where you want your money to go?”

3.  “Trust me, it’s tough to whip that thing around in parking lots and you’ll have a hard time parking it.”

Of course, she disagreed with all of this.

Because she knows better and she knows more.

(Kinda like I did when I was a 16-year-old teenage girl.)

Ehem.

Anyway.

When the time came to get her license, we gave her the option of a cute little four door car or a cute little four door car.

(Actually it was my car.  The month I made the final payment was the month she started driving.)

(God does have a sense of humor.)

She chose the cute little four door car.

She drives that cute little four door car for about 8 months.  Then it needs a little work, so in the shop it goes.

After using her sales tactics and making promises and reminding us of how she’s been a safe driver for 8 months now and hasn’t even had a close call, her daddy agrees to let her drive that F250 4-wheel drive truck for 2 days.

Only to school and work and back home.

(No cruising town. No going to friends house. No nothing. School to work to home.)

It is to be parked in the back part of the school parking lot.  No one is to ride with her.  It is to be driven with extreme caution.

For what felt like 17 years, all we heard for those 2 days was how ‘it’s so easy for her to drive,’ she has no problems handling it,’ and ‘what’s the big deal with just letting me drive it more?’

Until the 2nd night.

She leaves work.  About 10:00 pm.

Her daddy’s phone rings. About 10:11 pm.

Before answering, he immediately says, “Damn it, she’s wrecked the truck.”

Daddy:  “Hello, sweetie…what’s up?”

Her:  “Daaaaaadddddy, I’m so sorry (sobsobsobsobslurpsobsnort), I’m so, so sorry!  I didn’t mean to, I was (sobsobsobsnortslurp) just hungry and I’m soooooooo sorry!”

(Most of this sounded like she was speaking with her head in a bowl of water.  Snorting, crying, slobbering, more snorting, gasping for air, etc.)

Daddy:  “Where are you!!!???”

Her:  “Taaaaaaacooooo Bell….can you come get me???!?!?”

I’m up and looking for my shoes and grabbing my purse and heading to the car.

He hangs up and follow me to the garage.  Neither of us say much.

The over confident, all-knowing teenager is sitting in his truck with her head down on the steering wheel, sobbing like she just got dumped for prom, when we drive up.

After she got off work, she was hungry.

(She works at a restaurant.)

So she decided she’d whip through Taco Bell and grab her a .99 burrito.

(Because they’re so healthy.)

She goes through the drive-thru, places her order and then makes that tiiiiight left hand turn around the building headed to the pick-up window.

The only thing?

She took that yellow pole that protects the corner of the building with her.

(Because well, 1. That’s a lot of truck for a new driver and 2. It’s tough to whip that thing around in parking lots.)

(Yep. We’ve heard that somewhere before, haven’t we?)

(Can’t. Imagine. Where.)

She gets home, cleans her face and apologizes profusely.

And then says those magic words: “Man, that thing is bigger than I thought…I like my car much better.”

(My butt cheeks clinched and it took every fiber in my being to not scream, “AH HA! TOLD YOU! IF YOU WOULD JUST LISTEN!”)

Her daddy is one who believes we’re all accountable for our actions. Mistakes, accidents or not. And says she needs to feel the pain of having to pay for an accident and maybe next time, she’ll listen and see we aren’t idiots.

(Ha! Who is that dude kidding!!??)

So, that .99 burrito is costing her part of the deductible on his truck.

(He wanted to go for the whole deductible, but got a little soft and felt half was fair.)

So, until the shop can take the truck and make it new again…here’s what we have sitting in our driveway.

And there’s still eye-rolling. There’s still huffing and puffing. There’s still the occasional attitude.

Because apparently, teenagers don’t only know everything and can rule the world on their own, they have a very short memory.

Until the bill comes due.

Taco Bell Truck

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