As a part of the ongoing discussion with my boyfriend about cars--and can someone please explain the male fascination with all this sort of thing? I've heard it referred to as "auto-erotica" but I don't think it's quite that simple--he said something that made more of an impression than he likely intended. In an off-hand comment, he implied that I am "defined by" my car.
I am a black 2002 Honda Civic LX, 4-door, 5 speed, good+ condition, fewer than 52,000 miles, with gray cloth interior?
Wow.
According to Kelley's Blue Book, a car like mine has a Private Party Value of $9580. Not bad, I guess, for a 5-year-old car.
But, what the hell? I am defined by that car?
I don't think so.
So what does define me? Teapots and shot-glasses? The upward tilt of my nose and my almost-invisible eyelashes? A genetic predisposition toward headaches and away from suntans? A personal disposition toward questions?
Is it my inability to look someone in the eye when they have disappointed me?
Generosity? Petulance? Caffeine-, poetry-, and hand lotion-dependency? A talent for growing houseplants through the twin methods of neglect and creative feeding? (Mine drink tea.) A talent for gifts, card selection, kisses? Maybe my simultaneous desire and intolerance for solitude?
Polished toenails and mastery of the Dewey Decimal System?
Can I be defined? I rather hope that the answer is not so easy as, "Yes, by your car." But, too, I hope that my friends have given this some thought along the way, and see something here that I do not. What am I missing?
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