Driving downtown is made more difficult by merging lanes at an exit. Taking turns, just like kindergarten-one from your lane, one from mine. Inch forward. A red BMW swoops ahead, and the guy in the car shakes his head “no” in my direction. Excuse me, sir?
Call him a few names as a lady is wont to do, and once the lanes spread, catch up to have a better look. He’s not young but not old. Not particularly good looking. Once he jumped the line, I reached for my Judgey McJudgerson pants from the glove box. The car is bright red, not sporty, kinda girly. Why is a guy driving a girly red BMW feeling so good about himself he’s jumping the line and scolding older women on the way to work?
It’s funny that I can drive whatever I want. If I meandered about in a tractor, I’d be a badass farmer. I could buzz around town in a pink Cadillac and everyone would know I made a million selling Mary Kay. If I selected a red BMW, that would be okay too. Although bright red would never be a choice. Unless it was a 1966 cherry red Mustang. Then all bets are off.
But a guy in a bright red girly kinda car thinking he owns the road? It’s akin to when a guy replaces the muffler to make that loud exhaust sound. Why? And you know what they say about overlarge motorcycles. Poor boys. Perhaps they’re just trying to express themselves, non? It leads one to ponder what other rules we have created for guys.
Does he always walk on the outside of the sidewalk? If not, was he raised wrong or is he choosing to be a heathen? Does he open car doors? Tell his mother. She’ll straighten out that nonsense. If he doesn’t pay for dinner, there’s no one to talk to. Pay your share and get the hell outta Dodge. If he doesn’t do car maintenance is he really worth keeping around? Socks on the floor? Send him back to the manufacturer.
Feeling bad for the boys? Not so fast. Everything the chicks want is fixable, doable. The things society, and the boys, demand of girls are not so easy to fix. Big boobs, tiny waist, success at work, success at home, cook and clean, leave work to care for the little ones, smile more, and never, ever get mad. Fixable, possibly. Are we gonna do it? Hell no. We’re just too damn exhausted.
So perhaps both genders have standards that are tough to meet. But there are basics.
Like, dude, do not drive around in a bright red BMW girly car and be a jerk. If you had taken your turn, you and your girly car would not be the subject of a blog. Next time, remember the rules of toddlerhood, be a gentleman, and I’ll put my judgey pants away. Pfft.
The Duchess Diaries 