I’m not good at very many things, but gifts is not one of those things. I know what gifts I want. I make a list of the gifts that I want. Nobody has to wonder what to get me because I am very vocal about the gifts that I want. Don’t bother trying to surprise me – surprises are not on my list. Surprises are most likely things that I did not ask for, because if they were they would not be surprise gifts.
So imagine my confusion when I was given a surprise gift by my father-in-law. Actually, it was two surprises in one because truthfully I wasn’t expecting anything. But he got me something, he really got me.
First, a backstory. At the age of 36, I finally purchased my dream car that had really only been a dream since I binge watched the first 2 seasons of Ozark. After admiring how regal and sophisticated the drug lords looked in the show, I set a goal of purchasing a Yukon. Black exterior, black interior. I got it and it’s my mob boss car and I love it.
So when my husband said that my FIL’s Christmas gift to me would be something that HAD TO BE INSTALLED IN MY CAR, I understandably immediately wanted to know what it was.
Because I’m an optimist (obviously), my first thought was, “is it wheels?” My car needs wheels to complete the cartel look. I asked, “is it wheels?” and the answer was “no”. Naturally, I didn’t believe my husband. First off, I’ve basically been giving weekly presentations on the importance of new wheels, complete with visuals of the exact ones I want. And b) of course my husband isn’t going to tell me what the present is because that’s not how Christmas presents are supposed to work.
So for 4 days I kept reiterating which wheels I wanted to make sure my FIL got the right ones. My husband kept replying with, “you’re not getting wheels.” Yeah, yeah. These are what the drug dealers have on their cars. These are the ones I want, do not get ANYTHING else.
“You’re not getting wheels, Jenn”, he would reply. He’s such a good actor.
Last Monday, my husband took my car to go “get fitted for my Christmas present.” I didn’t know cars needed to be fit for wheels like a horse but whatever. As long as they’re the ones I want.
When my husband got home he sent me a text asking me to come outside. With my eyes aimed at the tires, I walked outside only to see that my stock wheels were still on my car.
That can’t be right.
Then he asked me to walk over to the driver’s side of my car.
“Oh”, I thought. They must be in the back seat and we have to take the car to get them put on.
I was asked to sit in the driver’s seat and start my car.
Then I was shown a black button that wasn’t there before and I’m pretty sure wasn’t in any of the SUVs on Ozark. Still, I thought: “maybe when I push this my old hubcaps will pop off and my new rims will be underneath those.”
That didn’t happen.
What did happen was the opposite of gangster. What happened was my car made a sound.
A sound like an 18-wheeler.
Yes. My FIL put a fucking air horn on my car.
Maybe I couldn’t hear the horns over the sound of their guns but I don’t recall the cartel blasting big rig honks at passerby’s.
I was not very happy. No part of me ever thought that an airhorn would make a good addition to my mobster mobile.
Fortunately, I’m a polite gangster and thanked my FIL for the gift. A gift, by the way, he was ridiculously proud of and thought was hilarious.
The next day I had Christmas errands to run so I got in my newly maimed vehicle and made my way to my first stop: Barnes & Noble. On my way there, something happened. Some dildo in a Fast and Furious car was weaving in and out of lanes. Without giving it much thought I detonated my horn. It didn’t make them stop but it did make me feel better.
You know how serial killers kill for the first time and they’re like “this is great!” and then they just keep killing and that’s how they become serial killers? That’s how this felt. I totally understand that puppet from the Saw movies now. I now have a taste for loudly honking at people and I’m not sure how to stop it.
The worst part is, I’m still upset that this airhorn is in my car so at any minute I might just start honking at people just to honk at them. Innocent people, like you, are not safe. But don’t blame me, blame my FIL.
So to recap: my husband and I got him a new computer. He got my husband a new golf club (something he’s been wanting/needing), got his ex-girlfriend’s daughter a ring to commemorate her college graduation, and I got something that could potentially destroy the planet.
And that, my friends, is my supervillain origin story. This is how Typical Jenn became the Joker.