There are certain unwritten rules to maintaining a happy marriage, but forcing a lifelong gearhead to choose between his new bride and his vintage car collection is an incredibly dangerous gamble.
Tom had finally tied the knot with his long-time girlfriend. Fresh off the honeymoon, he was already back in his absolute happy place—the garage—meticulously polishing his prized custom hot rod for an upcoming weekend auto show.
His new wife stood leaning against the workbench, arms crossed, silently watching him work. After a long, heavy silence, she finally cleared her throat.
“Honey, I’ve just been thinking,” she began, her tone dripping with newfound authority. “Now that we are officially married, it’s probably time you quit spending all your spare time out here in the grease. Honestly, you should just consider selling all these cars.”
Tom froze. The orbital buffer practically slipped from his hands as a look of absolute, unadulterated horror washed over his face. He stared at her, completely pale.
Alarmed by his dramatic reaction, she stepped forward. “Darling, what’s wrong?”
Tom took a slow, deep breath, wiped his hands on a shop rag, and whispered, “Wow… just for a second there, you were starting to sound exactly like my ex-wife.”
“Your ex-wife?!” she shrieked, her voice hitting a glass-shattering octave. “You never told me you were married before!”
Tom looked her dead in the eye, calmly picked his buffer back up, and replied, “I wasn’t.”
