Beware of the ‘car woman’

There are two types of women: One who can happily go out on a date with a guy whose day in the life is shared with a passenger jeep, and the other, who has a prerequisite for the boy to own at a decent-looking car.

Not really a crime for the latter, but in this modern day and age, where love is measured by character and practicality, the fortunate lads who drive a jaguar have a better chance of scoring with the better-looking girls.

Oh, I know it’s sad, but the better the vehicle, the prettier the date. It’s a well-known fact, ladies and gentlemen, so let’s not argue on this one.

I do own a car, and I squirm whenever I take a beautiful bird out to dinner and the first thing she compliments me on I show neat my automobile’s metallic red shine is. Now, that just bites, doesn’t it?

You see, unlike many boys, I was never really a car lover. I didn’t even know the difference between a fanbelt and a filter. Oh sure, I’d always prefer driving to commuting (who wouldn’t?) but I have perpetually despised lasses who would take a wicked guy over a a good one just so they could go home from work or school in style.

Blech! These "car women" (as I call them) are almost as shallow as I am(because I foolishly go for the physical charm).

How many times have we boys seen Kristine Hermosa look-alikes sitting on the passenger seat of a brand-new dressed up Honda Civics with men who would make Panchito look like Hugh Grant? It’s disgusting!

I’m not one to judge, of course. Maybe these girls just fell in love because the dudes are kind and they’re compatible with each other – and that Mercedes Benz had nothing to do with it. But one can’t help but think that a spiffy set of wheels can efficiently ignite the flame of "love".

It is common knowledge, folks. And it’s certainly a fact that women like these exist. This is why I had a dishonest thought to pretend I didn’t own an auto to find out of the lady I was dating would continue to see me if we took the jeep to McDonald’s. And if she returned any of my calls, then I’d be sure she wasn’t a member of the dreaded "car girl syndicate."

Ever since I was dumb enough o bring a pickup truck to high school, I already had this question at the back of my head. Why were my pretty classmates suddenly impressed with the way I strutted my late ass into the room?

They never really gave me a second glance before when they thought I took the bus, but as soon as word spread that I drove a vehicle, anonymous and not-so-anonymous phone calls and letters started piling up. And at that early age, such characters were already detestable to me and were avoided at all cost (which probably explains why I never had a fling). Not that I really cared for who they were, actually, but a who finds one’s car (or money) a turn-on rather than his personality never really gave me a boner. So please take note, boys and girls, that I’m not trying to impress any attractive gold diggers or put down any less-fortunate souls by revealing I drive a vehicle. It’s just that I really do have to make myself one of the examples in such a c____sucking write-up (heck I wasn’t even the one who thought about this interesting topic).

For their part, women who go out with men with "toys for the big boys" may have a sense of sensibility. Some are not really that keen on such shallow possessions, but they might have been brought up that way or they own cars of their own.

And any horny little devil would contend that having a car has its fringe benefits, indeed (ain’t that right, sugar?). Now, honestly, would you feel as comfortable making love in the backseat of a roomy Mitsubishi Galant as you would in one of Kuya Nestor’s stinky taxicabs?

Perish the bloody thought.

And who can really argue with the heavenly sensation of driving to the parking lot of a trendy nightspot in a Volvo? Nothing beats that. This is why we all feel a little inferior if we went to the same place puttering around in a used and broken-down Daewoo or Kia Pride. Hehe. It’s like you’re Redford White standing at the entrance of an elegant restaurant next to Brad Pitt.

Oh, the agony of the thought that you can’t be with some gorgeous lass unless you own a nice automobile! And these are the days, you know, when I would rather sulk in my bathroom for hours or wrack my feeble brain for clues on how to get me one of them sexy ladies (I’ve sunken to an all-time low at being shallow now). And it’s tit for tat as well. You see a guy whose standards in women has to do with waist measurement and breast size while amny girls, ideals for the perfect men, focus on the size of their wallet and the beauty of their car. In my opinion, they deserve each other.

And in the end, it all boils down to one thing. Are such broads really that interested in a fat, sloppily dressed man in a Ferrari?

Maybe, maybe not. But it’s not for me, or anyone else, to say, for that matter. Because in the long run, I’m sure most of us would rather have an owner-type jeep with a nice girl who is honest, caring, and totally there for you, rather than drive a Porsche with a commercial model who will jump into the next classy vehicle faster than you can say "I love you."

Hmmm. It’s not always good to own groovy cars, is it now?