You Drive A Mauve Truck?

So, on my way to work this morning I was passed by a mauve (yes, mauve) Dodge Ram ‘End of Days, Crusader Series,’ truck. My initial thought was: isn’t that a Revlon lipstick shade? I think that’s #237, Rum Raisin. Next thought: that dude is super secure in his masculinity, more power to him! I mean, we are never fucking, but more power to him.

You may question how I can be sure it was a man driving this domineering powder-puff and not a confident, self-reliant woman. Well, I did what any good investigative journalist would do. I punched it and got alongside the vehicle.

Our eyes locked - the moment taut between us. I surmise he was trying to establish whether I was hitting on him or not. He glanced over his shoulder at the median, as though someone else was the focus of my attention. I burst into laughter realizing what had happened and let my vehicle fall behind.

Sir, you’re driving a massive truck the color of a dog’s slick erection. There is no chance in Heaven that I am eyeballing you.

 

I began to let my mind wander. What if this dude came to pick me up for our first date? What would happen when I stepped outside and saw the wiener-mobile? Would I pretend that this was a mistake? “I’m sorry, you must have me mistaken for someone else?” then shut the door on him & turn all the house lights off?

I’m not saying dudes can’t drive traditionally “feminine” colored vehicles, but this one was over the top. This would be like Avon and Mary-Kay fucking on your porch and leaving its lovechild behind. It’s what would happen if you turned a dolphin-shaped dildo into a battering ram – a visual assault unparalleled. My vagina has never been so dry. My nipples actually inverted themselves; went into hiding. Witness protection for the titties.

There’s surely any number of good reasons why this guy could have been driving his lady’s truck. Was he helping her make repairs to it? She has a busy schedule between mud wrestling gators and canning pigs’ feet – cleaning the undercarriage may have put her behind schedule to watch NACAR with the girls at the salon.  

And...I'm stereotyping again. I get it. I have premium seats in Hell reserved. Front row, in fact.

Listen, far be it from me to dictate what color car you should drive. Most days I can’t put underwear on without almost falling over. I ask my 11-yr. old son for advice on which shoes I should wear; clearly, I am in no position to throw stones. Just know that when you drive around in a beast of a truck the color of “dog erection,” I am going to formulate a storyline around you & your choices. It’s likely they’ll wind up here too. It’s all in good fun, it just so happens to be at your expense.