All cars fall into two categories – hat and iron. There are also larger ones – off-road vehicles. I once heard this classification, and it suits me perfectly, although it tends to baffle people who know cars. I don’t suffer from automotive ignorance; I simply enjoy cars.
Behind the wheel for two years now—it’s just more convenient that way. Let me explain: an “iron” used to resemble a Toyota Caldina; a “hat” is a body type like a sedan. That’s how one taxi driver explained it to me.
Fortunately, there are many wonderful women who feel at the wheel like fish in water. Or like fish on ice, depending on their luck. We’re talking about them right now. Not all of them are blondes, and quite a few drive no worse than the average man. In fact, that number is rather large. How can you determine a woman’s character and temperament by her car?
There are cars you slide into like a fur-lined burrow. Or a nest. It feels as if the woman intends to lay eggs in the cabin rather than travel through space. The seat covers are soft, white, with ten-centimeter pile. It smells of cleanliness and natural wool. The steering wheel is also wrapped in a furry cover, resembling a pillow. In such a car, you’d want to request political asylum and stay living on the back seat, buried in fur.
The owner of this marvel is a young, nervous woman—beautiful and neat, of course. Through the softness of the seats and steering wheel, she compensates for the sharp edges of her character. The cozier and sleepier you feel in her car, the colder your relationship with her will be. There’s never any music in the cabin; this woman listens attentively to herself.
A woman in a sports car will either overturn all your knowledge about women or enrich it. She won’t cook at all, but will happily drink beer with you and cheer for CSKA or another team. If you’re indifferent to team sports, she’ll start making weekly trips to matches and fan gatherings on her own. Moreover, sports car enthusiasts have clubs—she’ll regularly attend these social events. The upside: this woman supports herself financially. The downside: her self-sufficiency practically excludes you from her life. She listens to Russian rock or fan songs about her favorite team. She wears men’s cologne.
A woman in an SUV. It’s safe to say the SUV was bought for her by her husband. A wealthy and authoritarian husband. No woman in her right mind would buy an SUV with her hard-earned money. Do you buy a sofa-bed for a child? If there is a woman who consciously chose an SUV for herself, then she’s either a female farmer or, excuse me, not quite a woman. Otherwise, where does this attraction to large sizes come from? She listens either to chanson or Radio Dacha.
A woman in a domestic car inspires reverent awe. Generally, she has achieved success in life on her own. Women don’t voluntarily buy Soviet-made cars—they inherit them. Such women possess iron willpower and strong psychology. Many men break down, unable to handle communication with domestic cars—or with such women. She would listen to something, but the stereo was stolen.
A woman in a small, feminine car is easy prey for all male specimens, ranging from traffic police officers to homeless kittens. She constantly checks herself in the mirror. The cabin smells of car air freshener and perfume. The car, along with the driver’s license, was bought for her either by her son or her lover. Such a woman mostly hears bad words from neighboring vehicles.
How do you determine a woman’s character and temperament if her car has torn seat covers, stones on the floor, cookies on the seats, a child seat, a centimeter-thick layer of dust, empty juice boxes and ice cream wrappers, plus a rotten apple in the seatback pocket? It’s obvious already. That’s my car.
