Some of you know this, most don’t. I am the proud owner of a 1985 Jeep CJ7. It has a 6-inch lift and 33 inch tires. Renee and I love it! B.D. (Before Dane), we did went Jeepin’ all the time, even while Renee was pregnant (What’s Jeepin’? Driving around with friends in their Jeeps and looking for cool stuff to drive up or over. We have done some pretty amazing things with this Jeep!). Unfortunately, A.D., we haven’t been able to go out in it with Dane, because of no rear seat belt. But we’re working on that.

So imagine if you will: Jacked up Jeep; Man driving covered in tattoos; and Woman in passenger seat, pregnant with cute, tight little tank top. “White trash” and “Cooter” aren’t the right words, but they’re the first words that come to mind. As if this isn’t enough, the following story will top it off.

We are heading home in the Jeep (as imagined above), and we are pulling up to a stoplight. The person behind me doesn’t like that I have slowed down so early, so they are riding pretty close to me (close enough that it looks like they could touch my spare tire with the front their truck). I pull up to the stoplight and they turn right. The woman driving starts yelling something about my driving, but I couldn’t hear it because Renee screamed, “SHUT UP BITCH BEFORE I CLIMB DOWN AND KICK YOUR ASS!”

Isn’t my wife the best?!