Love and a Hot Set of Wheels

Fine, I’ll admit it.

There have been occasions in my past when I’ve ‘fallen in love’ with someone because of their wheels. While this could be seen as shallow and a shameful example of judging a book by its cover, my argument is: how many books have you bought with an ugly cover?


Falling in love with the owner of a shiny rolling hunk of metal is not superficial.


Rather, it’s an appreciation of that person’s taste in the finer things in life. Would you be more inclined to accept a date from a collector of Renoir paintings, or from a person with bad art, stark bare walls or no walls at all?

One of my first boyfriends had a car. Now, I wouldn’t say that was the only reason I accepted his offer of a date, but there was a certain mystique about him since he was one of the few boys in that small town who had a car – and it was his own, not his dad’s.

At the time, I didn’t really pay that much attention to the specifics of the car. I remember liking the sound, the speed and the stereo. Little did I realize just what a machine it was — a silver Pontiac Firebird Trans Am (circa 1978) with a rear spoiler, a hood scoop, red leather guts and that bird splayed across the front hood. I loved that bird.


A sample of the fine Bird that graced the hood of the late-70s Pontiac Firebird Trans Am


When he sold it for another vehicle, I was disappointed. My memory blurs slightly after this but our dates trickled off. Okay, maybe a bit superficial.

One might say my adolescent behaviour was immature. I would have to agree.

Yet, even as an adult woman, the stance and crispness of a certain black 1991 GMC Jimmy caught my eye and – here I am, 23 years later – married to the driver.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Hun. So you know, it wasn’t just the Jimmy.


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