How you can tell what a man’s like in bed by the way he drives.
I drive a granny car and the way I’m treated on the road is driving me crazy!
Believe me, if I had to drive a car that represented my personality it would probably be the baddies car from the film Grease – big, fast, black and red with flames painted up the side – not my little excuse for a car. Because, regardless of the fact that I am a mother of two in her mid-thirties (What? How? When did that happen?) I still drive with the same unabated ferventness of a seventeen year old boy who’s nicked his dad’s convertible for the night.
My very uncool car shudders beyond 80 miles an hour, could fit in a matchstick toy box, is a metallic shade of Egg Shell Blue (wretch) and has more dents in it than my life savings. Just. But it’s not the end of the world, at least it keeps me out of trouble and it doesn’t matter when I scratch it up a little bit more.
The problem is though, that when I drive my shame-obile everyone presumes I AM an old granny. Even though I drive faster than I should, I use all three mirrors and I don’t dither at the lights (in fact I barely pause at Stop signs) I still have all the men in their willy wagons showing me their roadworthy prowess by intimidating me on the road. Considering that my teeny car isn’t a true representation of its driver, I should be the last person judging a book by its cover (or person by his car). Yet, over time, I have developed a theory.
I have figured out what a man’s like in bed by his choice in cars, and by the way he treats me and my little car on the road. See if you agree.
Yes, I see you in your huge 4×4 looming over my diddy car. You feel tall up there, don’t you, big boy? Is your car seat like a big, comfy, leather throne? You haven’t spotted me yet, I’m that tiny blue speck beneath your front tire. It must be wonderful to have such a huge and powerful car to wield and control on a daily basis, a vehicle that makes you stand out from all us little people. It must be great having something that is bigger than everyone else’s…because quite clearly you have a very teeny tiny pin dick.
Mr Look At Me
Yes, I see you in your low slinky car glowing in its vibrant shade of yellow (just in case there is anyone on the motorway that hasn’t spotted you yet). Yes, I’m looking, I’m looking. The car is positively purring under your manly hold; I bet the vibrations of her engine are throbbing beneath your heated seat. And look at that young blonde beside you. Did she come with the car? Did you choose her when upgrading your alloys and picking out the exact shade of cream leather for your dashboard? Oh look, that’s clever, I like the way your car door slides up too. Must feel good to be able to get something up.
Yes, I see you in your van, your headlights inches away from my rear bumper. Is that what you do when you spot a chick you like the look of…nudge yourself up against her back side? Nudge, nudge. Alright, love? Nudge, nudge. I’ve moved my car over and there you still are up ahead weaving in and out of all the other little cars. Gas, brakes, gas, brakes. Wow you are a fast mover. I know you like to be the winner but not everything is a race you know, you speedy thing you – just remember that in bed it’s polite to let the woman come first.
And then there’s…
Mr Not Fussed
Yes, I see you in your old banger. You keep to the speed limit, overtake correctly, give way when you have to. You have a car that you can trust, that doesn’t break the bank but still gets you where you need to go with minimum fuss. You car isn’t a status symbol, because you don’t give a fuck do you? Because I bet your fucks are monumental, and you know it. Because, from what I can see, a man who doesn’t have to prove anything on the road doesn’t have to prove anything in bed either.
So you can keep your big, flashy and speedy cars…they drive me crazy. But the inconsequential old rust bucket? I’d give him a ride any time!