Trucks . . .

I have only owned two cars in my life. I didn't buy my first car until December, 2003. When I was 27.5 years old. I bought my most recent car a little less than two years ago. I don't care for or about cars. Literally. I actually have to do that "up talk" thing when I tell people I own a Nissaaaaaaaaaan? Rogggggggggggggue? when they ask because, frankly, I'm not 100% sure.

I know, I know. Cars, trucks, mom, apple pie, baseball, and porn are all things that "men" are hard wired to love (I do love three of those things - you can pick the three, it doesn't really matter) but I can never get behind it. Even when people I know get new cars do you know the sum and total of my interest? New car smell. Seriously. Let me inhale that for a few seconds and you can keep your brand new Cabriolet for as long as you want. I don't care.

But to prove I am in the minority on this whole car/truck (truck, specifically) thing I took some actual stock this morning of my colleagues. I work for a company that builds, franchises, and runs hotels. As part of that, our employees run the gambit from accountants, to strategists, to marketers, to construction guys. Couple that with our Kansas roots (and proximity to Texas) and that means there are lots and lots of trucks in the parking lot (admittedly many belong to the law firm we share the building with).

But here is the thing that confuses me about these manly men and their trucks . . . trucks have gotten "pretty". I mean they are like really, really nice. They have 19 cup holders, leather interior, fog lights, Bose (TM) surround sound, lock boxes under the seats (for your guns - let's be clear), and little ladders that descend from the side of the truck when you open the door (to help you in and out, duh). And these fellas (they happen to all be men - the three women in the department drive a Civic, Jetta, and Buick something-or-other) love their trucks. They get them detailed at lunch. They back them in to spots. They park at the far end of the parking lot to prevent neighbors, scratches, dings, or stares.

Huh? I thought trucks were supposed to be big, hulking, beastly things with ripped fabric seats (bench - no buckets with warmers) and were supposed to have just two doors with a manual (forget push button) window you could open so you could pass road sodas from the cab to passengers riding in the bed. I want dents, scrapes, scratches, dings, dirt, and junk (literally garbage) in the back. When did we get four doors and electric windows? When did all the knobs on the dashboard become permanent and slick? What is with the steering-wheel-borne controls of the entire system?

I mean I get it . . . they have the same payload and they have the same dogs/chicks love trucks feel but I am not impressed. These are not the trucks George Washington road his horse for.