clutch in, dignity out

First off I would like to say, I grew up in the heartland of America, where Chevy pickups and Ford Impalas go to die. I have been driving since before I was 16 or even tall enough to reach the peddles. My first car was a classic white t-top Camero with navy blue interior and an automatic transmission.

No, it did not have an eagle on the hood and yes it was fast.

Ever since then, I have driven a car with a manual transmission; a grab-it-like-you-mean-it 5-speed of power. I k n o w h o w t o d r i v e a s t i c k. If you would like to test me, put me in the seat of an 18-wheeler with a drive shaft from here to china and I'll bounce right out of first gear into second. I grew up in the country where country was cool...

Back to the point, this morning at about 8am, my loving but unreasonable husband David says to me.
"Do you have meetings today, I need the car?"

(We are in fact a 2 car family. We have the backbone of our commuting, a grey Toyota Matrix which is the scrubby cousin of the much cooler Toyota Sienna and we have a 240Z Datsun, a lovely piece of machinery built in 1970 which my husband guards with his life. Thus, we commute together to work, and I enjoy it.)

"Yes, I have meetings most of the day and on the westside."
Here is where I ask the question that I will inevitably regret.
"Can I drive the Z?"

He walks over to me and gives me a loving look that actually means I'm about to learn something that even a 5 year old would know.
"Yes....., but

Please, let the clutch all the way out before you give it gas. It makes this awful zuuuuuuuuuuzeeeeeeeeeee sound when you drive it."

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Is it me or did you just call a minivan "cool"?