Thursday, 20 May 2010

NEWSFLASH! Men are *still* from Mars, sadly...

Okay, there's a Matchbox-equivalent toy made in it's image - so that must make it somehow more.... well, I still can't decide what kind of status this elevates the car to, but it does absolutely nothing to convince me of the non-existence of the male/female divide.
Take the day we met Scarlett. Yes, a car will always be a 'she' for some, possibly entirely sexist reason - and here I'm almost tempted to quote Lord FlashHeart from 'Blackadder Goes Forth' as he addressed the Twenty-Minuters - but I won't just in case it offends anyone. A lovely sunny day. And it strikes me that if it had been peeing it down with rain, the impact of seeing Scarlett for the first time may have been diminished somewhat.
Because she was sitting out there on the grassy knoll of the forecourt, flaunting her undoubted sex-appeal with her top off. Right in full view of any passing trade. Which, I'm guessing was the whole point of her state of undress.
And it worked.
Cue awestruck potential customer (i.e. Hubby): 'Look at this! And it's under seven grand!'
APC's wife (i.e. Me): 'But we want something economical - like this 207. it's only got 20 thousand on the clock - and it's younger and it's.....'
APC: 'Look - leather seats. And see - it's got a built-in SatNav screen - and bluetooth attachment... and look's got...'
Me: 'No bloody roof. is it going to protect me when I roll it?' (because this is HIGHLY LIKELY to happen - in my World)
APC: 'It's in the boot. And you don't have to have it down. Only in the summer. Only when it's not raining... only when...'
Me: 'You're driving it.' (I may have scowled).
APC: 'You have to admit it's got style...'
Me: 'And 60,000 on the clock. It's ancient!'
Enter Salesperson (shiny suit, slick hair, dollar-signs in his eyes): 'Lovely isn't she?'
(I cringe and wonder how I got on the set of 'On the Buses' or 'Robin's Nest')
Me: (ever-sensible Wife) 'How many miles to the gallon?'
Salesman: 'Oh, now let's just have a look shall we? Have you seen this on-board satellite navigation system?' (question aimed directly at APC and not the 'little woman' which makes me seethe as well as scowl).To which APC nods enthusiastically. 'This clever little device will tell you everything you need to know... when you're running low on oil, water, fuel, when you're due the next service... when you need to take a right or turn around...what the ambient temperature is in South Korea (I made that up but he probably said that - I'd switched off by then)...'
Me: 'So - miles to the gallon?'
Salesman: (answering APC again and avoiding any eye-contract with me) 'Let's have a little.... ah here we are - looks like the last journey was giving the previous owners an average urban of aroundabout 33, 34... not bad for a two litre I think you'll agree...'
Me: 'Two litre - the insurance'll be huge!'
Salesman: 'Yep, plenty of oomph this little baby - of course she handles like a dream. Let's take her out, shall we?'
As the slick salesman eases himself into the 'plush leather interior... you cannot have fabric in a convertible - it makes perfect sense...' and the topless temptress glides out of the forecourt, I am hissing statistics to my awestruck other half. All along the lines of fuel consumption, insurance groupage, economy of service/repair, tax, back seat leg-room and the reduction of doors by two.
'I wanted something sensible, economical, practical....' I may just as well have been peeing into the wind for all the impact my words had on APC. He'd died and gone to convertible heaven twenty minutes ago. Now he was cruising down the High Street on a summer's day with his top off and the Beach Boys blaring out of the (5-slot) CD player with Robert Palmer waiting in the wings. His sexy little sat-nav lovely telling him exactly where she wanted him and precisely where he should take her next.
And the look on APC's face when a switch was flicked and the (metal) roof went back on is something I last saw when we went to see 'Transformers II' - in fact reference to these lean, mean, shiny machines was actually made. No, I mean - properly made.
I might as well have taken a good book with me for all the input I had.
But here's the thing.
The APC is about to celebrate his 40th Birthday in about four weeks' time and I'd much rather he cavorts around with slinky Scarlett in full brazen view of his wife than creep about behind my back trying to get into one of my girdles and chatting up the lithe, sweaty ladies that jog up our road of a morning.
So Scarlett, my lovely, you are very welcome to join our little family and so long as you keep your curves in our driveway and don't go leading my lovely-but-very-easily-swayed husband astray, then we'll all get along famously.
(*ahem*)Until I write you off, of course.

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