So the three of us we were at The Place, talking over coffee after overeating on salad, Apple Gorgonzola pizza, and a spicy shrimp pasta, when the subject somehow turned to cars.
Now it was probably only because Sunny and I were there that the subject turned to cars, because women just don’t talk about cars. Correction, that was a gender-discriminating comment: women do talk about cars, it’s just that they don’t talk about the technical aspects of cars, more about the model or the price, and who has what car and linking people’s personalities with their cars and that sort of thing.
At any point, the subject had turned to cars and more specifically, men’s ego and cars (so I suppose we were speaking of a very “womanly” car subject after all).
Sunny, who likes to take over the conversation, (and I enjoy listening to her becuase she speaks terribly fast but in a very logical way that I’m sure men would hate) started off on an explanation of how cars were not cars for men, they were a symbol of their ego. The explanation led to an anecdote of Sunny’s hubby.
“So my parents had to buy a car, so we went shopping first for my mother’s car and he was very excited about going. Because she said she wanted a small car, we sort of persuaded mother to get a Mini, and oppa was doing all the test drives and perked up. But after we get home, he suddenly goes into this depression, and starts moping around the house and this has been going on for the past few days!
I mean, if it were a shirt or a bag or something, I’d think, ‘shit, what the hell’ and just splurge and buy him one, but he’s not going to happy until he buys a new car.”
“And not just any new car,” I said.
“Of course. It would have to be an imported car,”
“Like a Porsche.”
“That’s his dream car.”
“How expensive is a Porsche?” Lucie asked.
“Depends on the model,” I said.
“Boxsters aren’t outrageously expensive,” Sunny said. “I mean, if you consider how much a Grandeur costs these days, add a teeny more and…but anyways, it’s not like we can buy a car now, and our SM5 is in perfect shape. Oppa bought it three years ago when he first got a job, so it has minimal accessories- it doesn’t even have an airbag in the passenger’s seat- but he’s kept it so well that it never has any problems. He should be more concerned about his wife sitting in a seat with no airbag instead of being pouty over not having a new car. He keeps on calling our poor old car names and barks at it for not breaking down. I keep telling him not to, because we have to use for at least three more years.”
“Even if it does, would you buy a Porsche? I mean, by that times, you’ll have kids.”
“What I don’t get is why can’t he be happy about my parents getting a car? I was pretty happy because I thought, after a couple months and maybe if mom gets tired of it, we can start borrowing it and then soon it will be pretty much ours. It’ll be like..our car without us having to pay the taxes!”
“I guess it’s sort of like…the difference between buying my own Chanel bag and getting a used one from someone else.”
“But if I didn’t pay for it, what’s so bad about getting a used Chanel bag?”
“He’s probably just angry, because it’s your mother,” Lucie said.
“Or maybe because he visions himself driving the Mini and looking really cool, and he feels that he should have the car and not your mother…no offense to your mother,” I said.