There's a nick in my car bumper. I have no idea how it happened. But I didn't want my husband to see it because I have taken the car for repairs twice in the past two months and I didn't want my husband to think I was a lousy driver. Even though I really am.
I drive a Batman blue Prius which pretty much fulfills the stereotype of a latte-drinking-National-Public-Radio-listening-middle-aged-gay-father-of-a-mixed-race-family. It was the first car I had ever bought fresh off the lot, despite my husband telling me that I would just get dents in it. And after the second auto body repair it was perfect.
This new gash can not be blamed on an uninsured driver texting on Geneva Avenue. This new gash cannot be blamed on Zane having a temper tantrum because I let Aidan feed the pony first. No, this gash had appeared like stigmata upon the skin of my Prius.
Rather than admit to the gash I thought I would cover it with a bumper sticker. But I got stuck on the political message. After all, Obama was already elected to a second term and Hillary won't even be gearing up for another year. With 16 states down, gay marriage is pretty much a sure thing. And it's a little too early to campaign for gay divorce.
So I called my husband to ask if there was any cause that we needed to support via a bumper sticker and he said, "Bumper Sticker? No one puts a bumper sticker in San Francisco. That went out with sports utility vehicles."