Monday, August 20, 2007

From Zero to Poo-Yourself in about 4 seconds…

Okay… So there I was looking forward to a laid back friday afternoon and early dinner with The Guy, - nothing too spesh, just fast food and a laugh or two at the chicken joint ‘round the corner from my house, when The Guy tells me that there’ll be a small change of plan. (Ooh! Spontaneity! Surprises! I like.) I got there first and called to ask if I should get us a table, but he instructed me (he’s VERY bossy and loves ordering people – not just me – around!) to wait outside. There was something he wanted to show me… Turns out that he was getting some ridiculously expensive car sound fitted to his car and, as is often the case with men, his friends were there to lend a hand, a laugh and some general hanging-about pointless man-company. (Girls? You know the type… Why do men always have to do things in packs? Anyway.) And the thing that The Guy wanted to show me was a car belonging to one of those friends. In fact, the friend offered to bring The Guy over to meet me (while the car sound was getting sorted out) and to actually take me for a very short spin in his super, uber, lank, crazy fast car. I’m not sure what all the numbers mean, but I’m told that it’s a 2l, 16valve, turbo… thing.
It started out innocently enough, until The Guy warns me that I really should sit back, instead of perching on the edge of the backseat (so I could touch him, giggle!). I didn’t even get to ask why, before the friend takes off at top speed, throwing me backwards (blind!) and pinning me to the backseat. Is it lame to admit that my life flashed before my eyes and we didn’t even get past 3rd gear? Well if it is lame, then so be it! Damn. It was fast. But it wasn’t just getting from A to B quickly that made the whole thing “fast”… It was the way the car felt under us; the way it sounded… all of it, added to the experience. (By the way, “Friend”! My lawyer will be calling you later this week about the pending whiplash case I’m starting against you… Just kidding!)
Let’s get one thing clear. I’m no sissy when it comes to speed. I once racked up a bunch of speeding fines to the value of about R4000 in the space of 3 months or so. (Ack!) When a fine comes to my house my father doesn’t even bother to open it to see who it’s for. He just angrily throws it on my bed and glares at me as he walks past. There was a joke around our house that, that year I had taken it upon myself to fund the SA police Christmas bonus kitty all by myself. Whatever. I can’t drive slow, so shuddup!
Even though I worry that The Guy will be safe while he toys with this racing rubbish, I really can’t be a hypocrite and try to make him stop. I never would. I can only imagine how good it feels. I haven’t told him this before, but I have a serious problem with speed too. (Speed as in “fast”. Not speed the drug! Doh.) It’s weird. Rollercoasters make me queasy with that sick, lurching, stomach-in-your-mouth feeling, but fast cars are just fine, thank you very much.

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