I had an affair last week. My old Acura was in the shop for five days while the mechanics chased down an intermittent but scary problem and I had a brand new Acura to drive as a loaner. I have to admit, while it was not a car I would want to buy, the feel of a fresh new hardbody with only 300 miles on it was heady. And the features! It knew tricks my old car can’t even imagine on its best day!
When I sat down in my own car again I appreciated its familiarity, as well as some things the new car couldn’t offer me – the unthinking nature of driving it, the incredible visibility, and the comfort of a seat that now fits me from years of experience. But I did heave a sigh for the pure thrill of accelerating while the music’s volume increases to match its speed – a heady experience, pure unthinking pleasure.
There’s been a lot written about how guys think of cars as extensions of themselves, but not so much about women and cars. Well, I’m going to let the men in on a secret; cars are the other man in your woman’s life.
They may have different roles: the husband of a minivan who’s reliable, always there when you need him, and holds the kids safely, the boyfriend of that first nice car which makes you proud to be seen with him, the sometimes scary and sometimes fun blind dates of rental cars where it really doesn’t matter what they may be like long-term – you’ll only be interacting for a few hours or days so who cares???
But then there are the cars who are the lovers – those are the dangerous ones. They make a woman feel special, exciting, powerful and beautiful. They’re often red, possibly convertible, and always fast and sleek. Every woman has her favorites. For a friend of mine it’s been jeeps. For me, give me a muscle car that’s also a convertible and I’ll remember that ride for years. And if it’s red, I’ll sigh in semi-despair as I walk away. Would that I could live that way all the time.
But alas, beautiful red muscle cars are not my destiny. They belong to little, middle-aged balding chiropractors and optometrists with small pot bellies and the money to buy such cars. For now I’ll stick with my faithful husband of a car – older, fewer fancy features, but reliable. And in my world of the moment, that’s the guy of my dreams.