I have been blessed in life with some incredible male friends. The kind that I can talk to candidly about everything, and that I have, at times to their chagrin. In our twenties this really revolved around me sitting on the couch and acting as Dr. Ruth to them, as they ventured out into the world of understanding the female mind and navigating the boudoir. In our early thirties, it was them trying to vent about their marital issues with me and me doing my best not to clock them up side the head and shake the realization into them that ‘it’s not all about them any longer, they have a family, and despite whatever delusions they had at play in their head, yes, they have always been the family wagon kind of guy.’ Now that we’ve reached our mid to late thirties, the tables have turned, and they’ve been focusing their attention on sorting out my dating life, so they don’t have the wife and the purely platonic, absolutely no sex mistress to feel responsible for (ie. me).
Photo by Don LaVange
So one of my oldest and dearest male confidants was chatting with me the other day, and knowing that I love to cook and am in my element in the kitchen, was wondering why I had yet to invite the current fellow over for a meal. I blushed and admitted I had been working so much that the house was dangerously approaching something out of Hoarders (and before you’re totally aghast at me, I exaggerate, a wee bit anyhow). It was then that he smacked me in the face (metaphorically) with a violently shocking epiphany.
“If your concerned with him realizing that you can be a bit messy at times (I’ve decided in my head that the term ‘slob’ was not used), then maybe it’s your car that you should be more concerned of. That is the first impression he’ll get of your habitat and men are meticulous about their cars.”
Really? Do men really judge us gals on the condition of our cars? Men do realize that a car for us gals is an extension of our handbags, don’t they?
Was hit by this epiphany with a stream of alarm sirens blaring in my head. Dear God, if this was true, the horror was hitting me of what all the previous suitors had thought of me and what impression I’d already given this guy.
A typical view of my backseat, filled with plants and other odd items.
Maybe this was just my buddy …. and my Dad …. and my brother-in-law … and the Limp Burrito (aka Spanish Stallion). My brother, after all is a car slob, constantly treating the floor of my Mom’s and my cars as a dustbin. So what’s the truth gentlemen? Do you judge us gals on the cleanliness of our cars?
Yours inquiringly,
Emme xoxo
PS. Did a wee reconnaissance on the current suitor’s car the other night and was horrified to discover that it was impeccably tidy inside.
