Cars And Girls

Women worry and deal with things like raising families, running the world, running companies and other trivial bits.

Men, on the other hand, when we're not busily multi tasking, have to deal with real and important issues. Choosing a shaving gel is hard, what with so many being available. Choosing a razor is, my God it's complicated. Not only are there so many out there that we can get dizzy from looking but they're all the best in the world.

Then there are magazines to consider. The days of one mens' mag with a fold out centrespread are long gone. Every supermarket has a shelf or two of the things, each one promising us the best way of getting rock hard abs and features naked and sexy women, neither of which any of us will ever get. While most men in the media have a six pack, the rest of us eat our way through life with a one pack. The only time we stop eating is to buy a mens' mag.

We have to battle our way through a complicated minefield of gadgets, bottle opening belts and ball scratching. No way ladies, a man's life is tough. Never forget that. I think, if you read what follows you'll understand even more how hard our minds have to work.

There I was, being casual as I exited Tesco at lunchtime. In my two shopping bags I had these things:

Some lean minced beef

A bag of easy cook long grain rice

A jar of Uncle Ben's Chili con carne sauce

Tin of red kidney beans

These were the necessaries for the dinner for me and the girls that evening, though I planned to lie to them re use of the sauce

Also I had:

A chicken and bacon sandwich

Bag of Walker's Chilli and chocolate crisps

A birthday card for Lin at work

Bottle of Coke Zero.

These were my lunch things, except the card.

As I left the shop I saw something that made me smile. It was an arse, a female one and a rather nice one if truth be told. It was encased in some kind of trousered designer business suit and the cheeks had a most acceptable level of wobble combined with just the right degree of firmness.

The owner of the aforementioned arse was wearing the perfect choice of shoes to accompany the outfit, medium high heels. They gave that little lift to the cheeks without appearing too tarty and they weren't so high that she looked like a model dressed up as a businesswoman.

She left the shop and I was a few yards behind her. I hung back a bit. I've learned in my years that, when observing arses in this manner, it's important not to appear as some sort of perv, like someone who pays too much attention to the details and makes mental notes of everything, a blogger perhaps.

She walked off down one of the car park aisles, one of the two that I could have also chosen to get to the exit. I expected that I'd take the same route, observe dreamily for a bit, then go off and forget about things.

And then disaster struck.

Midway down the other car park aisle I saw one of the only things that could compete; a Ferrari.

It was parked there looking sexy. Okay it wasn't in Maranello red, which as far as I'm concerned is THE Ferarri colour, but it was in that Ferrari yellow, the only other colour that is vaguely acceptable. For those of you who are interested it was a F360 Spider, one of the meanest and most stunning looking cars ever.

It was mental torment, for about half a second.

Should I head in the direction of the gorgeous, expensive and mouth watering curves or should I follow the bird with the arse?

You'll be glad to know I did exactly the right thing.

The Ferrari it was.