Here’s the thing, you men out there like to be the international symbols for strength, power and security.
If that is the case, why are so many riding around in their A4’s and C250’s trying to race their buddies with blacked out, half rolled down windows, wearing sunglasses and backwards hats, with of course, their system bumping unidentifiable rap music because it is so loud? Not to mention, they don’t even look like they’re enjoying it.
Note to those men: we know this game. Everything is strategic. The next move?
He’s going to glance to the side and pretend like he didn’t just see us singing and dancing in our jeep with the top down three lights back. Then again, maybe he didn’t because his car is smaller than your tires. Next maybe, just maybe, if his balls are as big as his rims, he’ll ask one of us for our number. Unfortunately, things will just go downhill from there. Like when he picks me up for our first date and I smack my face on the side of his car when I get in, because it’s so damn low to the ground and I’m not used to that kind of unbalance in my life.
Not to mention the fact that his strategic way of sitting in his seat allowed me to open my own car door. Thanks again for that one.
But then what do we do? Dinner? Movies? So overdone.
He relinquished his power to be a man when he spent all that money on his mediocre Benz, when he could have, oh I don’t know, had an attractive down payment on a house. Something real men would think about? Just a thought.
You know what’s not overdone? A man telling me to throw on some jeans and boots I can get dirty, because he’s got a case of beer, he wants to get some mud on the tires and he doesn’t know when we will be back. A man showing up to my house, knocking on my door, carrying my bag for me and walking me down the driveway to his TRUCK.
I’m not talking some F-150, Ram 1500, or Silverado 1500. I’m talking a Duramax, Powerstroke or Cummins. (SWOON)
Something that’s sitting there purring with its mud tires in all its glory. Him opening the door, telling me to play whatever I want on the radio, with an ice chest of cold beer in the back just waiting for me. Now, that is an image I can get behind.
I can stand behind a man who is willing to throw the cliché of the fast car and the hard music to fit this specific image out the window. I can stand behind a man who is willing to start an adventure rather than tinder away on his phone at our dinner date. I can stand behind a man who is willing to go out into the woods where there is no cell phone service with nothing but me, a cooler of beer and a bottle of Fireball. If he’s smart, he knows this is where to get some adventurous adrenaline running.
Being behind the wheel of that Duramax signifies him throwing away this false “man”-complex of the fast car and the cheap dates. It signifies him being willing to make an investment for his future. He’s adventurous enough to take the risk of getting stuck in the mud.
And to me, getting stuck in the mud would be worth it. And taking that adventure would be worth it. And he would be worth it.
Because even if it didn’t work out, it wasn’t draining. It was new, it was fun, and he was different.
Here’s some advice boys, take the adventure path. You never know what we’re capable of until you let us show you. And I’d like to thank the “truck guys.” The ones who hold the doors, the ones who drive the diesel fleet, the ones who drive slow to enjoy the view and the ones who aren’t afraid to be different.
Because at the end of the day, it was never just about the truck. But hey, we as women like to start out thinking as you pull up into our driveway in that truck to pick us up for our first date, that truck might just make all the difference.