Can we just retire that “chick car” business once and for all?
[D]eep down, most women are car enthusiasts. Like any teenage boy, they start off excited about the intoxicating freedom of driving and scan their automotosphere for the chariot best suited to fleeing the nest and impressing the rest. They may not talk about horsepower and torque, but they “get it.”
And then they grow to dislike cars, if only because the cars they drive are so fundamentally unlikeable. The minivan, the family sedan, the average domestic transplant these are the daily drivers of the women I know. Is it any wonder they loathe all things automotive?
It’s the association with drudgery that kills the spirit, I think, though it doesn’t help that most of the vehicles represented as suitable for Mom’s Taxi duty are designed for maximum yawn and don’t lend themselves to serious hoonage.
Still, the combination of a shapely leg and a lead foot will almost always cause my heart to tach up. (Trini, bless her, covets a Nissan Sentra SE-R Spec V.)