Here's a little story I've got to tell....

I'm telling this story now only because I have fessed up to the act. A few years back Mark bought a car. He bought a car without telling me he was buying a car. Just came home in it......a brand new Mercedes. I'd have made a sailor blush with the words I spewed at him. This car was his love. He cleaned it everyday and rubbed it with a soft towel. I swear I could hear him whisper it it's ear. One day after he had spent some quality time rubbing and shinning up his ride he announced he was going to the gym. I was peeved. He comes in the house to get ready....I go outside. I'm standing in the garage looking at this beautiful, adored machine. Before I can stop myself, I'm scooping up mud from the flowerbed and smearing it all over the front of his car, paying special attention to the fancy stupid hood ornament. gasp. what have i done?! no going back now. face the music. I quickly go in the house, wash my hands and wait. Mark heads out. I hear the car start, back out, and the garage close. What? When he gets home from the gym he's enraged! "You won't believe what someone did while I was working out! I parked way out by the hedges and someone smeared mud all over my car!!! Can you believe it?!" are you kidding me? am i getting off this easy? "Now way. Some people are just psycho" I tell him, trying to keep a straight face. He told everyone that story. Each time I would get a little joy out of knowing that "someone" was me. That car is long gone, and a truck now sits in it's place. A vehicle I can respect. No silly ornaments adorn it's hood, and it's never had mud smeared on it, ever.