A box I don't fit into

I drive a truck. I've driven this truck for eleven years. This is the first vehicle I chose on my own.

I think I wanted a truck because I almost got one when I was a teenager. We were going to buy the neighbor's pickup, but then they realized the pickup was more reliable than the other car they had, and kept that one.

People's reactions to a city girl driving a truck are varied.

Female reactions include

• I like it when women drive trucks.
• You are the best parallel parker! That was awesome when you pulled into that space, after that tiny little car gave up.
• Can you help me move some bookshelves?

Some boxes are too big.

Male reactions include

• You're going to have trouble driving that in the snow.
• I'd expect you to drive something compact and smart. (!!!)
  
• I always think, "Katherine's here" when I see that truck. (Well, duh, that's the point!)
• Can you help me move 30 bags of rocks? 

Some boxes are too small.

After eleven years, I'm still not over having a truck.

I don't fit some guys' idea of a demure, feminine woman with a practical if bland vehicle. I drive a truck, I own power tools and a shovel, and these days I probably can hold side plank longer than they can, too. That's just the kind of girl I am. The best guy, the guy I'm looking for, will appreciate me for all that, rather than question my choices and expect me to be someone who fits a mold.

Some boxes are just right, but that doesn't mean we belong in boxes.

Monday I was driving home and found a set of chairs by the side of the road. Free chairs! I couldn't have freed those chairs with a clown car. I can't wait to see what I end up doing to them.

They will probably end up purple.