Among the many things that men and women feel differently about, cars might just be at the top of the list. Personal experience has shown me that women want cars to take them from one place to the other, while men want cars to span all the territory between whatever was missing in their childhood up through the day they die. Maybe I’m overstating it, but I don’t think so.
My first glimmer of this was when my date for the Junior Prom in high school picked me up in his father’s VW bug. My prom date was a guitar-playing Art Garfunkel type – sensitive, polite, and never one to call attention to himself. With that in mind, I made my father promise not to make him pose for any pictures. Swearing he wouldn’t even suggest it, my dad photographed me in my dress before Art arrived.
After giving me my corsage, Art nodded to my parents as we walked out. Then, turning around suddenly at the front door, he gestured to the camera in my father’s hand and blurted, “Do you think you could take a picture of us together?” “Why, of course!” my father responded, and said for us to stand by the door and he’d take one right away.
“Well,” Art stammered, “I’d really like one outside.” So we walked out to the driveway, and Art positioned me right in front of the VW. Then he put his arm around my shoulder, and with a huge smile, motioned for my dad to snap the picture. It was a great shot, and it’s still in a photo album somewhere. For years, every time I looked at it, I wondered what exactly Art meant when he said “a picture of us together” – him and me, or him and the car.
A few years ago, Husband and I both needed our cars replaced at the same time. Husband visited dozens of showrooms, exploring the available crop of vehicles, and deciding which one spoke to his inner driver. I tagged along because I needed a car, too. And once again, I discovered that where men and cars are concerned, it’s about larger things than the driving. It’s more like a pilgrimage.
As Husband lingered with the Nissan salesman, thumbed through color brochures, and went for test drives, I walked over to a Sentra and sat in the driver’s seat. Then I walked back to Husband and the salesman.
OSV: It’s very comfortable, but I’m not in love with the color.
SALESMAN: It’s the last one left in any color.
OSV: I wasn’t really thinking silver.
SALESMAN: It’s not silver. It’s radium.
OSV: Oh, okay then. Write it up.
Husband looked at me in amazement, like how could I decide in a split second that this was the vehicle worthy of sharing all my four-wheeled memories, my yearning for the distant horizon, my hopes and dreams for the future. “It’s just a car,” I said, shrugging. “Not shoes.”
Daughter’s Featured Fotos leave Room for Questions
the horse’s mouth
who’s the boss?
the monster front
