Grabbing the thermometer from the medicine cabinet, I race into the kitchen. "Stick this under your tongue and breathe through your nose for three minutes, Babe. You've probably got a bug."

He gives me the you've got grits for brains look. "I don't have a temperature or a bug. Besides, I wouldn't put that thing in my mouth if I were dying. It's not even an oral thermometer."

Oops.

"So if you're not sick, then how come you're moping around the house like you're half dead, and why did you give the dog most of your spaghetti?"

His eyes look back at me with real sadness. He heaves a heavy sigh.

"Because I'm grieving," he says.

"Who died, Babe? Was it a friend of yours? Why didn't you tell me?"

He sighs again and then gazes out the window toward the empty street.

"It's not a who. It's a what."

Oh Gawd! He's been sniffing those golf shoes of his again. I sit beside him and pat him on the shoulder. I can be motherly when I want to.

"Why don't you tell me about whatever it is."

"Okay, if you must know,” he blurts, “it's Big Red."

"BIG RED? Your old car? You're grieving for a CAR?"

He gives me a look and sniffs. "Big Red may be gone, but he’s not forgotten."

Babe's scarlet colored mini-van with simulated wood interior, shiny chrome hubcaps and real honest-to-gawd vinyl upholstery was his favorite set of wheels. Unfortunately, Big Red got too big for his chassis. He was squeezed out of the fast lane by smaller, faster cars that didn't guzzle gasoline like a thirsty nomad. I thought Babe was happy to get rid of it.

I sigh as though I mean it, and then pat his other shoulder.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He nods his head. "For five years it schlepped my golf clubs, smelly golf shoes, dirty socks, Burger King wrappers and a lot of dog hair all over the place. Big Red never groaned when I loaded it to the luggage rack with every piece of golf equipment known to man."

I don't know what to say. One of us is tooling around in Cuckooville and I'm pretty sure it isn't me.

"Yup," I mutter, and try not to look too alarmed.

"Big Red never even lost composure when it was forced to squeeze one more golfer into its stinky interior. Like the Energizer Bunny, it just kept going and going and going."

"Uh, Babe, is that the Viagra commercial or the one with the flashlight rabbit? I forget."

"Whatever. Big Red's tires? Small as they were, they lasted longer than anybody expected. After five years they were good as new."

"Well, I don't know about that, Babe. There was enough metal shining through those tires to build you a new bumper."

He squeezes his eyes shut. "That has nothing to do with anything. Those were good tires. Radials. The best."

I'm thinking it might be safer to just humor him, so I mutter, "Yup" as though what he's saying makes even a lick of sense.

"I loved Big Red. He was always dependable. Unlike my ex-wife, he never deserted me." Big, heavy sigh again.

"Say what? How about that time I had to come get you at midnight because Big Red decided to take a time-out in the middle of I-95?"

He gives me an indignant look. "That was entirely my fault. Big Red needed a drink. The idiot light was blinking, but did I pay attention? I did not. I could have been more compassionate, but I passed up all the service station exits instead."

I'm talking to a man obviously running on empty. "Enough, Babe. You sold Big Red to a pretty blonde gal who loves it more than you ever did. I'll bet she's busy hauling furniture or bedding plants in it and singing her little heart out with happiness."

Babe jumps up from the table, knocks over a chair, and then strides out of the room bellowing like a cow. “She’s hauling lumber in Big Red? Bedding plants? Is she crazy or what? Doesn’t she know she’ll get Big Red filthy dirty? What a bimbo. I knew I should never have let her have him.”

I catch up with him in time to see him snatch up the phone. “What are you doing? Who are you calling?”

“I’m calling that girl to let her know she better not get Big Red dirty. Bedding plants, for heaven’s sake. What is she thinking?”

“Babe, Put down the phone. Big Red will be fine. Trust me. That’s a good boy. Now, watch my lips and repeat after me: It is a far, far better place to which Big Red went than from whence he came. Amen and Amen.”