My husband, Chris, posted an online ad to sell our car.
This morning he went outside to make it shine — polishing, scrubbing, buffing until it looked like it had just rolled out of the showroom. He left his phone on the hallway table.
Our little boy was playing under the car, and I was sitting inside when suddenly Chris’s phone rang.
I thought, Great! First buyer!
So of course, I picked up — who wants to lose a sale, right?
— Hi, — a man said on the other end. — Are you the one selling the car?
I smiled. Jackpot. I may not know much about engines, but I can talk.
— Yes, we are! It’s a great car — a real treasure. It’ll make your mornings brighter and serve you faithfully, twenty-four seven.
— Oh yeah? And what year is this “treasure”? — he asked.
I had no clue. And yelling out the window to Chris felt like too much work. So I went with the logical option — adapt to the buyer’s expectations.
— What year would you like it to be? — I asked sweetly.
— The newer, the better, of course.
— Perfect! It’s a 2021. And if you buy today, I’ll throw in a free upgrade to 2022, — I said without blinking.
He burst out laughing.
— All right, funny lady. And what’s the mileage?
I straightened up even though he couldn’t see me.
— And… where do I find that again?
— On the dashboard, ma’am. The odometer.
— Oh, great! — I sighed in relief. — Chris was tinkering with it last night. When he finished, he said: “There. Good as new. Not a single mile on it.”
The guy was laughing so hard I could hear him choking.
— So, how well has this car been taken care of? — he asked.
— Sir! My husband treats this car better than he used to treat me! — I said, genuinely offended. — He once hauled gravel from the river, and afterward he swept the interior with a tiny broom. Then he said, “Any other car would’ve fallen apart. But this one? A tank.”
— And how’s the undercarriage?
— Perfect. Right now Chris is under there filling it in with some kind of black goo and foam. I even heard him hammering. He said, “Whoever buys this baby is getting a real treasure.”
The man was wheezing from laughter.
— One more question, — he said. — How’s the gas mileage?
— Let’s just say… it eats like a linebacker after a wedding. If we don’t sell it soon, we’ll have to start walking everywhere.
— Honestly, — the man said between laughs — I’d rather buy you than the car.
— Tempting, but I’m not for sale, — I replied. — Chris is keeping me for a rainy day.
— Has the car ever been in an accident?
— Not officially. But there was… an “internal incident.”
— Internal?
— My mother-in-law once asked Chris to give a young bull a ride from the farm. The bull got nervous and rammed the roof, made a hole.
— In the roof?!
— What? Wouldn’t you panic if a pig in a seatbelt was sitting next to you?
— A pig?!
— Yes, but strapped in properly — safety first. But when the bull made the hole, the pig freaked out, and Chris hit the guardrail. A cop nearby jumped into a tree to save himself.
The man was laughing so hard I thought he might pass out.
— So how’s the car after all that?
— Excellent! Chris replaced the roof. Found one in a junkyard, patched it up with modeling clay, and it drives like a dream.
When Chris came back inside, I proudly told him I’d almost sold the car and walked him through the conversation.
He didn’t find it as funny as I did. He changed his phone password and now takes it with him even to the bathroom.
All I wanted was to help.
So if any of you ever plan to sell a car — call me.
I’ll find you a buyer… or at the very least, make them laugh until they cry
