Guys have a wandering eye. There is no doubt about that. I think women do, too - it usually has to do with shoes. Women tend to only notice other guys when they're in a group of women. For some reason, that seems to make it acceptable. A group of ladies going into the ahem, ladies club is cute and fun.
Guys, wanderers by nature, are pretty bad individually. Put a group of them together and the whole world is an, ahem, gentlemens club. If ogling was a crime, the jailers would all have to be women, because all the men would be in jail. Forever. I will allow for a brief pause here since I know of at least a couple regular readers who would like to savor that thought.
I have a wandering eye. I can't not look at a dog. I love looking at dogs; sometimes the people walking the dogs aren't too bad to look at, either. I have a wandering eye for food, having a hard time hiding my epicurean lust when passing a windowed restaurant or worse, an outdoor cafe. I wonder if you get a refund when a random stranger drools on your entree?
Mostly though, I have a wandering eye for cars. Summer is really hard for me because even though Bruce, my Corvette has been in my life for 21 years, I still wonder what it would be like to be with other cars that I see. Poor, long suffering Bruce sits in my dank garage getting less attention than she deserves and I am out looking at the delights of the business-like but classy Porsches and dainty little British numbers like MGs and Triumphs with their smaller engines and subtle curves the equivalent of the girl next door wearing a sundress. Of course, the cars are more likely to drop their tops.
Meanwhile my mean motored curvy love sits waiting quietly in the garage bathed in her petroleum perfume; looking for all the world like a world weary cougar just a little past her prime, but still formidable. I should have called her Maggy May, like the Rod Stewart song where he tries to wrest himself from the grips of his older lover.
Some cars you own, other cars you lust after. A hot Latin number would be the thing, but I don't think I am man enough to keep a Ferrari or Alpha Romeo happy for too long. Well, maybe a Spyder Veloce or Giulietta, the cute younger sisters in Alpha's lineup. But then I wouldn't really be happy, would I? I would just be one step closer to the hot big sister. The thought of trying to tame a snarling Lamborgini actually puts fear into my heart. Like sleeping with a woman because you are afraid of what she would do if you tried to deny her. A Lambo is not owned, it owns you.
Life for a guy with a wandering eye is so difficult. I will look at anything, even if it lower quality than what I already have at home. So help me I even found myself looking at Opel GTs online the other day. Probably because I had a brief fling with one as a teen and I have fond innocent memories of that car. But forsaking a Corvette for an Opel GT would be a lot like forsaking your rich well-connected wife to take up with the maid... and that is just stupid.
The good news is I can't be unfaithful to old Bruce. I don't have the money. But that doesn't really bode well for a relationship, does it? Who looks at their significant other and says to themselves "You're fine for now, but watch out if I win the lotto!"
Would it be so bad if I didn't get rid of Bruce and just brought home another girl... I mean car? Wow! All the bad behavior I am prone to with automobiles I deplore in people! "Oh, Bruce, I drive her hard but it's you I really love!"
I'm a slime. There is really no other way to solve this problem. I must drive Bruce today to rekindle that romance and remember her nuances and why I fell in love in the first place. Maybe we'll have a nice meal together and cruise the country roads for a bit. I will park her back in the deep, dark garage and glance furtively back over my shoulder to appreciate her curves one more time in the dying light where her flaws are hidden - allowing for her once resplendent beauty to come to the fore. Then to feel my heart beat as I realize that I could love no one, I mean no car, more than she.
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