By Barbara DeLong
Oh yes, I can make all the proper noises at all the proper times – the ooh’s and aah’s, the gasps of delight, the sucked in breath when mere words won’t suffice. The “wow, that’s hot,†when I just have to say something. And being a mere man, whose love of cars is barely five mph behind his love for his wife, my husband doesn’t catch on.
Okay, make that ten mph.
As he talks about his Mustang, my eyes glaze over; my mind wanders to thoughts of dinner. Will I make the halibut?
“…and I don’t think I’ll get the hi-po spark plugs…â€
I shake my head. Naw, fish is not my favorite. Maybe the juicy porterhouse I’ve had marinating in those exotic herbs and spices.
“…the Flowmasters give the car a throaty roar, don’t you think?â€
“Ooh, yes, yes, YES!†I enthuse, agreeing to my choice of succulent steak.
He looks so satisfied, bless his heart.
I wasn’t always this good. In that first romantic blush, during the courtship dance that’s as old as time, I blew it once in awhile.
“…then it dropped a valve into the piston.â€
“Hmmm, great,†I purred, thinking about our cozy date the night before.
“Not great. Bad. Very bad,†he’d said.
What can I tell you? There was a learning curve.
Now, after thirty-five years of marriage, I’ve taken faking an interest in cars to an art form. At least, I thought I had. I may have faltered these past couple of years, which could explain how I ended up being on the board of the Mustang Club as editor of their newsletter. I had a weak moment and got sucked into his world as surely as 92 Octane gets sucked into Bosch forty-two pound injectors. Ah well, could be worse. I could be writing a romance set in the world of cars – wait a minute. I am writing a romance set in the world of cars. “Joy Ride†is my road rally romance-in-progress.
Which reminds me . . .
“Honey, I need some advice.†I trail him out to the garage, notepad in hand. “Tell me, should my hero’s ’65 Mustang have the original V8?â€
“I’d give it a Cobra 5.0 engine with a Vortech supercharger and a Crane high lift cam,†he says.
Funny, as I’m listening to him, I know just what he’s talking about.
And my eyes don’t glaze over once.
Barbara DeLong
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