Went to look at the bright red sports car yesterday. It was lovely, but I am having doubts about the appropriateness of the whole idea. Not chickening out completely you understand, just having second thoughts.
I was fine with all aspects until I actually went to the showroom to test drive it and noticed a few things going on with other potential buyers which I'm not sure I can live with, even to be the driver of this particular type of car.
1. My jeans do not reveal my bum crack. Or a thong. Or a tattoo of my boyfriend's name.
2. I don't have long blonde hair to riffle my hands through at traffic lights when I've got the roof down. Or a pierced navel.
3. White high heels would kill my feet.
4. I am at least twenty five years too damn old.
5. I look absolutely shit in a baseball cap.
That said, husband was still determined to get me to have a go in it.
Now, years ago I used to drive an Austin Healey Sprite, a sweet little sporty number, low on the ground, you had to lie down to drive it, so I know how to get in and out of a car like that with some level of decency. But back in those days, mini-skirted and in white PVC boots, I wasn't self conscious about giving any bystander a flash of leg. But now? Well, let's say I'd want to be a lot more careful and can I really be bothered? Am I now built only for comfort? Maybe.
I needed the advice of a man I can trust.
"Give me your absolutely honest advice. I promise I won't go into a sulk" says I to husband, who is really keen for me to buy a sports car again so he can drive it.
"Did I look stupid in it?" I ask.
"No" he replies, as usual a man of many words.
"You know, like those sad old bags who think they're still twenty-five or something?" I persist.
"No, you bloody-well didn't. You looked good. I think it suited you." Ahh, you can see why I love him can't you?
"But what about when I'm getting in and out, wearing a skirt? Would I flash too much flesh? And what about my varicose vein? Hardly goes with the bright red sports car image, does it?" Lots of negatives are popping into my mind now, I am depressing myself and need a bit of reassurance so I'm asking him every spurious question that comes into my head. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Doubts are definitely setting in.
"Only you would even think about that" he looks at me, totally mystified. He doesn't want to give up on the car, he can just see himself bladdering round the countryside with the roof down, listening to his Top Gear driving music CD, Ray-Bans on. So he persists and asks "and does it really matter, anyway?" Fair point I suppose. But I am increasingly talking myself out of it.
"Well I don't want to be silly about it but it's hardly an image I want to portray - y'know, bright red sports car, silly old woman driving it sort of thing?" The truth of the situation is beginning to dawn on me. Too damn old. And silly. And veiny. Bugger, bugger, bugger. My bottom lip is now so far out, you could rest a tray of drinks on it.
He has another go at reassuring me, bless him, but he's getting a bit fed up with it now. Understandably.
"Only you would come to test drive a sports car and then end up worrying about your sodding varicous vein." He thinks that this is reassuring, but to me it isn't. He himself has actually said the V. V. words and now we are DOOMED. Oh dear, this is all going to hell in a handcart, let alone a sexy little two seater convertible.
He gives it one last try, desperately trying to find his way out of the hormonal minefield he is inadvertently walking through. Carefully does it, one step at a time, mind where you put your foot......
"And anyway, who cares if you've got a varicose vein. I love your legs. And blue goes with everything, after all."
Will let you know what's happening re the car when the smoke clears.