Greg and I had a conversation recently about our faults. Greg mentioned that he considered himself vain. This flummoxed me. I don’t consider Greg at all concerned with appearances.
He will wear the same pair of pants for five days straight because it’s so much easier to pick them up off the floor where they were left the night before than to go to the closet. He wants us to have a beautiful yard, but he hates actually working in the yard, so we’re the neighbors with the foot-high weeds. And then there’s his car, which gets washed maybe once a year. And I’m often the one washing it. I had become embarrassed to even let our friends ride in it because a layer of pet hair coated the seats.
Well, Greg got into a little fender-bender a few weeks ago (the other guy’s fault). When we got the car back from the repair shop, Greg was thrilled with their work.
“Did you see how clean it is?” he said. I told him that the outside looked good but I hadn’t seen the inside.
“They cleaned the whole thing,” he said. “It’s the cleanest it’s been in six years!”
Six years ago it was brand new, and therefore, very clean.
“Well, I guess you need to get in more wrecks,” I said.
“I know!” he said.
I don’t think “vanity” was quite the word Greg was looking for.