When it comes to getting around to doing things, my wife Cindy and I are total opposites.
I like to do things spontaneously and instinctively without thinking about the possible implications or repercussions that could result. I believe there’s no time like the present.
Cindy does things deliberately and methodically, although “eventually” might be closer to the truth. She tends to think things through and consider every possible outcome before deciding on a course of action. Cindy is the one who asks for permission. I’m the one usually on my knees begging for forgiveness.
Cindy takes so long to act on something that once I called her a procrastinator. She fired back with, “No I’m not.” Three days later.
In my wildest imagination, I never thought I’d see the day when our roles were reversed. Then this happened.
Cindy and I both think that trucks manufactured in America in the 1950s are absolutely magnificent. We hoped that one day we would have one of our own. We stumbled across one at a local auction recently: a Chevy 3100 pickup truck decked out in blue, our favorite color. We looked it over and agreed it would make a nice addition to our family. We also agreed on the maximum amount we would bid on it. We decided Cindy would do the bidding. The last time we went to an auction I was in charge of bidding and my right hand – the one holding our bidder number – impulsively went up and down like a pogo stick. (Me=impulsive) That’s why she (Cindy=sensible) would be responsible for handling any and all negotiations towards obtaining the truck.
There were other vehicles in the auction, as well. Several sold for what I thought were low bids. Others didn’t sell at all. I took that as an encouraging sign for our agreed-upon top bid, up until the moment the auctioneer approached the truck and announced, “And now, what we’ve all been waiting for.”
I was glad Cindy had the bidder number in her possession. When they were handing out common sense she was ahead of me in line.
I heard several bids, and it didn’t take long for Cindy to raise her hand with our top bid. Or so I thought. There was a higher bid, followed by another – Cindy – and another and then another – Cindy again – and then one more. At this point the auctioneer approached the owner of the truck and the two of them whispered quietly for a moment.
Then the auctioneer walked towards Cindy, looked her straight in the eye and said, “I’m not talking to him (meaning me), I’m talking to you,” at which point I must have blacked out because I can’t tell you what happened next.
What I remember is someone I had never seen before shaking my hand and congratulating me. Cindy had made the highest bid.
Afterwards Cindy called it “fate” that the truck would be ours as it was made the same year I was born.
But I think that’s just her way of asking for forgiveness.
Scott Ludwig lives, runs and writes in Senoia. His latest book, “Southern Charm” is a collection of his first 101 columns for The Newnan Times-Herald. He can be reached at email@example.com .