Boys n' their Trrrrucks

Kids, I have a confession to make: I have YET to outgrow the boys who clearly have NOT outgrown their first love. They're a guilty pleasure, kinda like eating Mickey D's or watching daytime TV. I can't quite rationalize the behavior, but fuck it, I'm doing it/him anyway.

Here's what takes place: when you pull up in your F150 or 250 or Silverado, the first thing I think is, ohferchrissakes, this is ridiculous. You live in a city apartment, the largest piece of heavy-duty equipment you own is a power drill, and the only stuff you'll ever have to haul is your buddy's couch when he moves out of his parents' house for the fifth time.

Then I open the door, and you're waaay up there, and I'm down here. And the cab is going into convulsions from the booming speakers. And I have to climb up in my stilettos and miniskirt, and suddenly I feel very, very small, and girly, and giggly.

When I happen upon a male owner of a Mini Cooper or a Volkswagen Bug, none of the above takes place. Instead, I only get the heebie-geebies. I gotta admit it, size matters: I can't date anything less than a V8.