After living for almost 63 years and being married for 42 years, I think I finally understand the way men think about their vehicles.
I very seldom drive Mr. Fixit’s truck, and when I do drive, he is usually in the passenger seat. He probably serves as a calming influence on me. The last time I drove it alone was back in the spring when he went on vacation. Then I only drove it once or twice.
Yesterday he drove my car to work, and I was left with the truck. I had to go to the post office to return a Netflix movie so I drove the truck. Driving that big truck had a curious effect on me. I felt powerful! There I was sitting so much higher than people in cars in the lane next me. The muffler on the truck are a bit louder than the one on my sedate Buick; varoom, varoom! I found myself hunched over the steering wheel wanting to go faster, faster. Suddenly I was thinking “I am strong; I am invincible; I am Woman! Get the heck out of my way; I’m coming through.” It must have been the rush of endorphins brought on by the power of those eight cylinders and the dull roar of the engine.
When I arrived back home one thing deflated my feelings of power and invincibility. As I prepared to leave the truck, I had to turn sideways in the seat and slide out because my feet were about a foot and a half from the ground. I felt like a four-year-old kid.
I can understand now how men feel when they are in a big ole truck and the testosterone starts running like maple sap in the spring and the endorphins kick in. Whoa! It’s no wonder some men change from Jekyll to Hyde when behind the wheel of their trucks.