I find this really funny.
Occasionally the hubby lets me drive the Mustang convertible. I do have to admit that even though I love my Prius, there is something about the wind blowing through my hair and having all that power in my hands.
It never fails, though. Someone sees me driving the Mustang and strikes up a conversation. It usually goes something like this:
Them: “What year is that?”
Them: “I [or some other person they know] have a [insert something that sounds like gibberish to me]”
Me: (nodding) “Really?”
Them: “Yeah, it’s got [insert more gibberish]”
Me: (nodding again, looking for escape routes) “How interesting.”
(At this point, some launch into a description of problems they are having with their current car)
Them: “What’s under the hood of that?”
Me: “An engine?”
You could pop the hood (I think I know where the switch is), and I could point out things like the radiator, the washer fluid tank, the air filter and the dip stick. Oh, yes, the battery, I could find that too.
But anything else? Nope.
Don’t ask me how big the engine is – I don’t carry a measuring tape. Don’t ask what the horsepower is, because there are no horses under that hood. I checked. Don’t ask me about the Pistons. That’s some kind of sports team.
I’ve never been into cars, other than to get into them and go somewhere. To me they are a tool, not something to be worshiped.
So remember, just because I drive it doesn’t mean I know anything about it.
Photo by Morning theft