Karkaritis

This was a happy day in Mr Honey's life. It was the first almost new car he's purchased since we've known each other. But since that day, he has been inflicted with a condition which I understand many men suffer from. Mr. Honey has an acute case of karkaritis.
(Pronounced CAR-CARE-itis.)
This condition manifests itself in the most unusual ways. For instance, I had a meeting at church and Mr. Honey was not yet home from his part time job. He arrived shortly before I left, this will be important to note. He was upstairs and I left the house to go to my car.

Usually when I open my car door on the driver side, I throw my purse on to the passenger seat. I opened the door to the car and started to throw the purse in when I noticed there was no passenger seat. It was gone. No seat at all.

Who stole my car seat? Who would break in a car and steal just the seat? No one. I walked back into the house and yelled upstairs: "Where's my seat?" To which Mr. Honey replied;

"Where's your feet?"
"Where...is..my..car..seat?"
"It's in the garage - OK?"
(Oh, so he's gonna get an attitude with me?) "No, not OK. you don't remove somebody's seat without telling them especially when you might not have been home when I discovered it. What's it doing in the garage?"

"I'm cleaning it. Take the van."

Karkaritis strikes. He has removed both seats. He has cleaned the mats. The seats. Everything. One morning I went into the car and was assaulted by that fake new car smell. And there it was - that little pine tree shaped thing hanging from the radio. Not only that. The car has been waxed.

Waxed. Like a Brazilian model.

I got the nerve to look in the trunk. Neat. I can actually kill someone, put them in the trunk and cart them off to a dump of my choice and they'd be comfortable. Provided I killed them in a way that did not drip blood.

He's not done. I don't know what else is left to do but he's been on the internet looking up cleaning stuff and he says he's not done.

You know the other thing about karkaritis? It spreads between men. His best friend lives down the street from Mr. H's sister and of course they had to do that men grunting over the new car thing and his friend told him to stop by the house because he had a gift for him.

Of course it was car related. I stepped into the new car and there were new floor mats. But not those fuzzy car mats..no..these were GI Joe car mats. Big, honking ones with ridges and valleys. "They catch the dirt." (From where? Eyjafjallajökull?)

I now feel the need to replace the ashtray that was stolen from the car because it would complete the look. I also can no longer eat in the car - either car. As I said before, that might not be a bad thing.

I am enjoying his obvious delight and don't wish to neutralize his good works so I will maintain the vehicle. My ten year old Corolla (which we've had for six years) has been renewed - and so has Mr. Honey. And considering how I have overloaded his life with yarn. It seems a pretty good trade off.

Nothing's better than a room full of yarn - and a happy hubby in the house.