My husband is a car junkie. Anything with an engine and he’s in love. His favorite cars are muscle cars from the mid-sixties to early seventies. More than once I have watched him take a car down to the frame and put back together. No books, no manuals. A pile of nuts, bolts and metal becomes a car, again. In our first house my family room became a storage area for car parts, during the restoration. And, when that car was restored, a ‘71 (I think) Chevelle SS, it was part of my wedding. Pictures and everything.
Which is why we have umpteen 100 cable channels. So, he can watch Speed TV and Speed on Demand. He likes the Hot Rod shows, the car auctions and a few others. Thank the Goddess he does not like circle track. I couldn’t stand it if I had to watch Nascar with him. He likes the show Pinks. My husband was drag racing before he had a license. He loves to watch these guys race for the pink slips. I don’t mind watching. It’s kinda fun. The racing part, everything else is enough to drive you crazy. Especially, the negotiations before each race. If this is a good representation of the male species no wonder the world is in such a fucked up state. They bitch, whine, moan, complain and grumble. They want this, they want that. They are not men and race head to head. Oh no, they want head starts. They bicker like three olds about how many car lengths a guys should get. When they get up to 10 car lengths, which is practically half the track, I get great satisfaction when they still get smoked. If a car starts to run a little ragged and needs repairs, they complain even more. They are wussies I tell ya.
The last time we watched it I had to leave. I hate whiny ass men. And, the guy who lost was a sore loser to boot. No shaking hands at the end of that race. Seriously, what is up with these guys. If women were acting this way guys would have a field day on us. But, nope, with men this is racing and what manly-men do. I would like to see some women race. We don’t whine. Girls are tough. I am sure if two women were racing it would be heads up, balls to the wall, best girl wins. Loser buys drinks and watch the crew boys do the clean up.
Wanna race My mini-van against yours……I like Margaritas.
Never get in the way between a “boy” and his “toy.” Is the whole competitive things something inbred? I mean what’s up with the “Mine is bigger than yours” complex? Just imagine though if it were a woman kicking these men’s butts. Woo Hoo, would you be seeing some fireworks!
I’ll take you on in that race! Mini-van a cross-over. Mine’s a V6…what are you packin’?