The glamorous life of a farmer’s wife

by Katie on February 17, 2011

We’ve been one vehicle short since Christmas when we drove my little truck to Texas for my (6’2″, 180 pound) baby brother to drive. We had already committed to giving it to him at that time, thinking we would find what we were looking for to purchase by then. As our luck would have it, we did not. We finally got it February 10th. In the meantime, I was either vehicle-less or borrowing Brandon’s parents’ Jeep. Because they’re nice like that. Yes, we had our little irrigator-pickup, but when you have two employees, sharing one vehicle between three people becomes a problem.

The second week in February, a cousin of mine (from Mississippi, living in Texas) realized she was staying a few days in a fancy-schmancy resort (courtesy of a conference her husband was attending) 50 miles from my house.

So we planned a little reunion.

About an hour before I was supposed to leave to drive across town to pick her up for the day, Brandon realized he needed a few pieces of pipe for the farm. Pipe which was located in downtown Phoenix, about two miles out of my way. How convenient, right?

Normally, I would agree. But I’m driving a Jeep, remember?

“Uhhh, how big are they?” I asked.

So he described what I would be picking up, then asked how many I thought would fit in the backseat of the Jeep.”

“One, maaayybeee two. No more,” I said.

And his face scrunched up. “Okay. Two will work. I need five, but just go get whatever will fit in the backseat for now.”

Done deal, right? We had a plan.

Only Brandon returned 20 minutes later to say this:  “Katie-Baby,” (that’s what I’m called when he’s jokingly being all lovey-dovey…or when he really wants something) “I hate to ask you to do this, and I know it’s awful, but can you take the white truck to get your cousin so you can pick up that pipe? I really need five.”

To which I gave a scrunched up face. “Okaaayy,” I finally said, “If I have to.”

“I know it’s not ideal to get your cousin, and I’m sorry, but I really need the pipe.”

“It’s not my cousin I’m worried about. I’m sure she’s ridden in worse around my family over the years. It’s the whole ‘driving-up-to-fancy-Scottsdale-resort-next-to-limos-in-an-irrigator-truck’ that is going to make me feel even more out of place near that ritzy thing. But I understand it’s what I need to do. …And it’s kind of funny.”

After I had the pipe loaded, I sent my cousin a warning text:  “Prepare to be embarrassed. You get the full experience today:  had to drive farm truck to get you.”

She “haha”d, and told me it was fine. But she was waiting for me out in the main drive…with the entrance and it’s valet parking and limos and fancy people hidden by palm trees.

And I’m pretty sure my face was beet red driving up to that place.

But hey, we’re feeding all those rich people, right?


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