“You Can’t Drive 55…..Even if it’s Sexy?”
Hey, you! You know who you are! The Jeff Gordon Wannabe who tailgated then passed me this morning like a bat out of hell, weaving in and out of traffic with perfect synchronization—like you were in the Daytona 500.
Okay, okay, I have to admit. The professional drivers—the guys who lap up the tracks in the professional races—the guys who make the big bucks to drive at one million miles an hour—they are sexy. Yes, there is something very sexy about them. Jeff Gordon. Bobby and Terry Labonte. And my idol, Richard Petty. Their slick, colorful high performance machines. Ah! Male adrenaline crashing head on with female hormones. Sexy. And don’t forget the money. The big money.
But you, my friend. Not sexy. As you pass me with lightning speed in your—is it Toyota? Some compact Japanese model. Sometimes you’re at the wheel of a pick up. Yes, you. Big Dog Daddy. You da man! Actually, you’re more than likely ‘da man’ with high blood pressure which is aggravated by an overwhelming need to prove your masculinity through your vehicle. Oh, you probably do have an adoring female following. Why, if studies were done, I’m sure the polls would prove that a percentage of females—ranging in ages from twelve to thirteen—-do find your reckless mobile theatrics very alluring. To them, you probably are the next best thing to Jeff Gordon. Without the millions, of course.
Why am I not addressing reckless female drivers? Oh, I could. I should. But I wanted to address the male NASCAR hopefuls so I could get to the point of this blog. To tell you about the other male driver I saw while on my morning commute.
Yes. You. The guy who cruises Highway 90 every morning in your plain white, sparkling clean Chevy pick up. I don’t what you look like. That’s not important. What is important is the way you drive the speed limit, letting all the hot headed runts pass you by.
You. The man who doesn’t feel the need to prove your virility through speeding. Something in the calm, unhurried way you motor through the five a.m. traffic at a relaxed pace proves you’re in control. You call your own shots. You’re where you want to be.
Something in the way you coast the road without succumbing to the high volume pressure around you makes you incredibly sexy, incredibly secure. Incredibly masculine because self control is POWER.
Then, too, you could be just sleepy and bored and just meandering your way to your job so slow because you don’t want to go. You’d rather be fishing. But, hey. That’s even kind of sexy in itself.
A man cruising the highway who can go 55. Ah. Nothing’s sexier.