TALES FROM THE CAVES: The Scot’s and mine
If you’ve read Tales #1 and #2 you know that “moderation” is not in the Scot’s vocabulary. He’s strictly an all-or-nothing, leave-no-stone-unturned kind of guy. Which tends to make him a wee bit competitive.
I point to Exhibit C: The Beagle.
A few years back the Scot was approaching his fortieth birthday and I wanted to give him something memorable to mark the milestone. He was, after all, the most important man in our lives. So I thought and thought, and then recalled him once saying that he really wanted to have three things by the time he reached forty: he wanted to have one million in the bank, wanted to fly his own plane and own a 1965 Corvette convertible.
Well, I knew the million wasn’t in the checking account and wouldn’t be anytime soon thanks to three college-bound teenagers who were eating us out of house and home. As for the plane, that was out of the question too. Price aside, he’d since discovered he has this “thing” about heights, so that left me with one wish. The car.
So I began squirreling money away. Twenty-five here, twenty-five there. When I finally had enough I started searching for the perfect car. Now keep in mind I know zero about cars, what was or wasn’t quality restoration but did know one particular white ’65 Corvette convertible purred like a very pretty lion…so I bought it. Yup, all by myself!
The Scot’s big day arrived and I was so excited. Surprise! He was thrilled out of his mind. The Vette became his daily driver and true to his nature, the Scot joined the local Corvette club to learn everything he could about his new toy. And that’s when the trouble began.
He was hanging with Corvette aficionados who knew every nut, bolt and screw in their highly polished, totally tricked-out babies. And while they showed off their handy work, the Scot was learning his pretty toy had weaknesses Six months passed and the Scot was making more and more trips to specialty shops and PEPBoys. Then two of his new friends suggested the Scot show his car at the Charity fundraiser for the local ASPCA. They assured him the show’s rules where simple. Show up, display your car and common folk would vote for the best car in show by placing money in huge jars placed before each car. The car with the most money in its jar wins. Simple and all for a good cause.
Now keep in mind, these folks trailer their Vettes to car shows, (God forbid their tires get a speck of gravel in a tread) then propped them up above mirrors so you can see all the shiny chrome underneath! The Scot’s Vette had grease on the engine block and dirt in the treads. More importantly, it had a double-barreled Hemi something or other above its not original engine. (Hey, what do I know about cars? But this did explain why when idling the Vette rocked, had a deep throaty growl that sounded like it was ready to eat tarmac and anything else in its path. )
Thankfully, the Scot and money are dear friends, so he wasn’t tempted to blow the kids’ college funds on chrome just to follow suite. Definitely not, but then he wasn’t about to lose either. He was determined to win his first show or know the reason why.
So the morning of the big show arrived. He pressure-cleaned, vacuumed, polished, and waxed his toy to within an inch of its life then shouted, “Wish me luck, love!” And he and his toy were gone.
Five hours later I finally heard the Vette’s unmistakable rumble in the driveway and reached for the chardonnay. I figured the Scot would need some after a humbling defeat. Full glasses in hand, my commiserating platitudes at the ready, I head outside and find not my Scot but a 6’5” Beagle standing next to the Vette. Seriously, folks. He’d gone to The ASPCA Annual Classic Car Show dressed as a dog!
Not believing my eyes, I looked from him to the boom box playing Johnny Angel on the hood of the car then back at him. “So, uhmm, what on earth possessed you…uhmm, how did it go?”
The brown and white hound reached behind the front seat and much to my surprise, pulled out a 1st place trophy! He took off the furry head, and grinning like an idiot, said, “It wasn’t easy--this costume is hot--but I won. Played 60’s tunes, danced for the crowd, and the dollars just kept falling like rain into my jar.”
I’m telling you, folks. Never underestimate the lengths a Highlander will go to when he really wants something. ?
Meet another determined Highlander in my new release THE KING'S MISTRESS set against actual events in 1285 Scotland. I hope you enjoy it.
So what was the last thing your significant other did that totally astounded you?