Cars

Guys continually compare cars to women and we just roll our eyes, failing to see the similarity other than the power struggle between the sexes where they think they are in control – until there’s an accident. The femininity of the car, boat and other possessions has been taken for granted and I can finally relate to this chick comparison after visiting a dealer who convinced me to abandon my seven year long relationship with a reliable Carlee (an obvious name considering my name is Lee and it was my first car, yet people needed explanations about the origin of her name) for a sleek newer model. The first feminine comparison would be the good looks that made Ms Fine so irresistible that I had to have her on the showroom floor. Right then and there here physical profile grabbed my attention and I was smitten with her sleek look and curves.

Carlee, my ex, has become more of a burden in time as she has stopped taking care of herself and her looks are fading. After our move to the ocean, she aged quickly and was attracting pitiful looks from strangers when her colour started fading. More and more people were passing her as she was slower than the younger models which meant that more pathetic looks were given as cars sped past, but she was not turning heads for the right reasons anymore. My hands were developing calluses from touching her (rough stearing) and I was repulsed by her tactile stimulation. While her interior was great, I was embarrassed by her outward appearance as she had dents in all the wrong places and unsightly bumps and bruises. I felt guilty for secretly making plans to trade her in, but it was a nightmare deciding on a replacement that could match her reliability, mobility and good nature. I needed another easy ride that could be manoeuvred into small spaces.

When I decided on a worthy replacement, Carlee’s fate was sealed. After years of making me hot (no aircon) and being stuck in the 80s (KFM was the station of choice as there was no CD player), she would have to move on. The replacement was hidden under a satin sheet that resembled a wedding dress of my untouched vehicle. I removed her gown and slid into the cool atmosphere that would give me much pleasure in the future. The similarities in my virgin ride reminded me of what males imagine to be the perfect girlfriend – no loud feedback, no rattling, no distractions and no boundries. I could drive forever and see a real future for this relationship. The only hiccup which turned into a gag reflex was the fact that my new car makes me nauseous. Maybe it’s the new smell or the air conditioning or the thought of the monthly insurance payments. I’m hoping this morning sickness will subside soon along with the “mourning sickness” of missing my old girl that is now sitting in a garage having a makeover for her new owner. I hope that she can deal with the betrayal and will remember me with fondness.

In the meantime, I will be marking my territory with high revs, speeding fines (or she will “miss-the-fine” because she is so quick), thumping bass and sleek curves. Not to mention my CA number plate which indicates that I have moved away from the northern suburbs into the real world of wheeling and dealing where the action never stops. I know how to turn Ms Fine on and the rest will fall into place with practise. Until the nausea passes and the adjustment (seat, mirror and steering levers) period is over, I will enjoy showing her off to my friends who are extremely jealous, especially the guys. I can see that they want to be in the driver’s seat and feel her for themselves, but they know not to ask.