Cars and Pants

Last week my wife and I were walking back to the car place to pick up our Tori, our Ford Taurus, from her oil change.  My wife, who is sad that we no longer own a distinctive car, likes to play “slug-Taurus” with me when we’re out.  She will hit me in the arm and say “Tori!  Tori!”

Every time she does this, I say, “Where? Where?” because I still can’t tell whether a car is a Taurus or not just by looking.  My wife has tried to explain this to me several times, to no avail.

Last week, when my wife hit me on the way to picking up our Tori, she took the time to point out several distinctive features of Tauruses, none of which comes to mind at the moment (sigh . . .).  I paid close attention.  But I knew I wouldn’t remember what she said.

As we kept walking, I had a sudden realization: that I can tell just by looking at a man’s pants who the manufacturer was, but I can’t tell different makes of cars apart.  All I could think was, wow.  That’s pretty gay.

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