For some people, their lives revolve around their cars. They are obsessed with them, they dwell on them, their friends don’t want to visit them because they know that will be the only topic of conversation.
I call these people amateurs.
They’re not really car guys! They’re just pretenders. You’re not truly able to claim you’re seriously afflicted with the car bug until you’ve slipped to the same depths as yours truly.
That’s right, folks. My car has not only taken over my life, it is dictating my future. My car has final say on whether or not I’m going to be dating a girl. My car could, theoretically, have final say, on which woman will be my wife.
While I’m sure it will break Suzanne’s heart to hear this, I can’t seriously consider a woman as a potential Mrs. Deadlift until I know whether my car will accept her or not. And believe me, that’s no easy feat. If the car doesn’t like her, neither do I, and that decision is final.
Unless the car changes its mind, of course. But that’s not been known to happen so far.
Allow me to explain. I drive an old sports car. It’s touchy, it’s finicky, and it dances on a knife’s edge of performance. When it’s working, it’s fantastic. When it’s not, it is most enthusiastically not. And in the years I’ve owned it, I’ve spent countless hours trying to trace down annoying little problems, only to have them vanish without a trace before I could find the cause.
And I’ve finally realized the true cause. My little sports car is viciously jealous. I picked up a girl for a night out on the town a few months back, and it was clear within minutes that she was not about to be accepted. She commented, the first time she climbed out, that it was a difficult car to get in and out of. “Honestly, I’d rather have a big sport-ute.” When we returned to the car, her side wouldn’t unlock with the remote… and even once I manually unlocked it, she still couldn’t get it open. Her heated seat stopped working, and her window wouldn’t roll down. And yet, once I dropped her off, all those problems went away. That was the point when I first clued in, and it’s demonstrated its displeasure several times since.
I’ve seen personal ads before that read, “Must like cars”. I’m not entirely sure how I’d write one in this case. “Must be liked by small German sports car”? In all honesty, I’m kind of hoping it’ll find her for me.
Hopefully not by running her over.