Candles or Tailpipes?

It all started with a simple rusty exhaust system on the old F-150.
Time took its toll on the trusty black workhorse truck’s pipes, and it was time to do it right.
My neighbor works at a local auto shop, and offered to tear off the old “grandpa” exhaust system – which made you look at the gauges to be sure it was running - and treat the V-8 Ford to a little, ahem, “massage.”
That massage did not involve any exotic plum and mango body oils, hot mud or towels over your rump – it was more of Nascar-based tweaking that involves a throaty, dual outlet muffler, 2 1/2-inch pipes and 3 1/2-inch chrome-plated “cans” under the bumper.
“She’ll sound like a truck’s supposed to sound,” neighbor Bill said with a raised eyebrow in his sales pitch.
Did I mention it would cost slightly more than a conventional “sounds like an Avis rental car” system?
The testosterone began to congeal behind my eyeballs, making my peepers bug out in a Bachelor party splendor.
The grunts were only in my head, I think.
“Yeah. Sound good. Quiet bad!” I said in agreement.
My wife had no grasp on the appeal.
“Does it need to be like that?” she asked in a perfect, pragmatic, ‘I have to balance the checkbook’ tone. “How about just fixing it?”
The light bulb suddenly lit up over my slowly receding hairline; this was where the rubber meets the road between men and women. This is where the hunters and gatherers faced off in a classic duel of male vs. female needs and wants.
She looks at vehicles as just another way to get to work without going in the ditch. It must have a stereo, ashtray and all her favorite pop radio stations easily accessible between commercials. It must be comfy, affordable and “cute.” It also needs to start on even the coldest El Nino-influenced January morn.
My vehicle(s) must be capable, exciting, fun-to-drive and able to haul twice their weight in camper, 2-by-4’s, snowmobiles or “stuff.” They must be able to light up the tires when asked, corner without dragging the door handles, and have a serious stereo – without any of the aforementioned pop radio swill.
Men need their vehicles to be an extension of their personalities or character.
Women want tomb silence, warranties and little cartoon guys hanging from the mirror.
Cruel generalization? Maybe, but there is a basic difference between how men and women buy their vehicles. Women care more about the “ride” than whether the vehicle will rush to 60 mph, barking the rear tires when they catch second gear.
I think this difference dates back to the times of covered wagons. Men road and tended the horses and buggies, women took care of the young’ens in the buggy, fighting with the old Prairie Schooner’s buckboard bouncing.
Men wanted horses that could haul those schooners for years; women wanted horses that were pretty and nice to the kids.
Sure, the times have changed, and women now buy more new vehicles than men do. They still deal with similar attitudes as mine on the showroom floor; men show them under the hood, bragging about the overhead cams and platinum-grid mass airflow induction, while the women ask if they can get the seats Scotchgarded and whether they can order a vinyl roof.
It happens. Deal with it.
It is a basic X vs. Y chromosome problem, and I’m afraid the women are winning.
Vehicles and the way they are sold have changed. Front-wheel-drive (argh!) idiot lights and traction control are now more common than Positraction, rear-drivers with tachometers and a real-live oil pressure gauge.
It’s the “Saturn-ing” of America: Feel-good, high mileage, frumpy cars with plastic fenders are in.
Firebirds, Camaros, Oldsmobiles (makers of the Hurst Olds’ and 4-4-2) and Plymouths (say “Super Bird,” Prowler and Roadrunner) are gone forever.
Two steps back and one step up, I think.
Women’s collegiate and professional sports are now as good or better than the men’s stuff, since they are of a more normal size. Women now occupy all flavors of corporate and government role, oftentimes more responsibly than men. Women like PFC Jessica Lynch (the POW rescued in Iraq) have proven to even the most thick stalwart that they are just as tough as the boys are in the trenches, and maybe tougher under pressure.
Women can do almost anything equally or better than men…except dispose of rodents and buy cars.
It is worthless to argue over the merits of another 20 horsepower out of the old pickup versus more Partylite™ candles, black shoes or Pampered Chef™ kitchenware.
There are differences that will always exist between the sexes, and just realizing those differences is not wrong.
Right, honey?
By the way, the truck sounds mean, baby - just like it should sound; the rumble and chrome was worth the extra bucks.
Which is good, because I may be sleeping in it for a while.


(First published in the summer of 2003, this column was the second-most asked about piece I've ever had published - maybe because of the topic? Men vs. Women? BTW- she doesn't smoke anymore. I'm supposed to tell you that. The Photo is from the Franconia Sculpture Park, in Taylors Falls, Minn. Summer 08.)