Ricky Maestas can be so seductive. Here, he murmured, slip into the leather and prepare to lose your inhibitions. Give in to the power, and brace yourself for the thrill of a big ride, a really big ride.
Ricky stroked the engine lovingly. He promised to deliver warmth, even in the back seats. He guaranteed that no matter how many rocky roads we faced together, our relationship would be perfectly safe.
We could climb the highest mountains, brave the wildest storms, rise above mediocrity – even above the Lincoln Navigator. Sure, it would take sacrifice, probably around $60,000 worth. And if we really wanted to keep our love alive, we’d probably go for another $20,000 in optional equipment.
But money is no object when you want the whole world to know just how special you think you are.
Now, I want you to know that I tried to fall in love. I wanted so much to please Ricky, or at least not to hurt his feelings. But when I slipped behind the wheel, I realized I couldn’t fake it.
Deep down, I knew that if I suddenly got very, very rich, and had so much money that I could satisfy every imaginable urge – no matter how primal or extravagant – I would never fall for a Hummer H2.
You see, rolling around town encased in 8,600 pounds of primitive machinery, burning fossil fuels at a breathtaking 8 to 13 miles per gallon and producing greenhouse gases at an alarming rate just turns me off.
Ricky, sweetheart, it’s just not me. When I go off-road, it’s to hike. If I want to ride in something really huge, I take a bus. And when I’m stopped at a light, I’d prefer someone notice my, um, hair instead of my massive, steel-riveted side panels.
So I left Ricky like a groom abandoned at the altar, and tried to discover for myself why everybody is swooning over the foreigners. I wanted to see what makes them so hot.
It didn’t take long. One look at Kevin Walsh’s sweet little power button and I was smitten. “Take me now,” I begged.
I fastened my seat belt nervously as he gently pressed the lever on the variable- speed transmission. The multi-info display screen practically screamed, “Touch me, you fool.” The Smart Entry technology knew me instinctively and, unlike the Hummer, which takes an awful lot of coaxing to get rolling, this baby was incredibly responsive to my needs.
Don’t whisper a word of this to my mother, but Kevin and I went from zero to 60 in 10.1 seconds … on our first date. But this was no silly macho power trip.
If I told him to slow down, he’d lightly squeeze the brakes and we’d glide to an amazingly quiet stop, no arguments, no shift shock and no wasted energy. In fact, every time he touched the brakes, it made his motor stronger.
Honestly, how could any woman resist? In fact, how could anybody resist this lean, sexy fella who goes both ways?
Electric and internal combustion, that is.
When Kevin let me take control of the Prius, I felt alive. Suddenly we were in perfect sync, moving aerodynamically through life, able to scale any mountain together and still able to fit comfortably in my tiny urban garage.
And best of all, this hunk of burnin’ love doesn’t peter out, even after the wildest ride. It can keep going 600 miles on a single 11.5-gallon tank.
That means at current prices, the cost of romancing a Hummer for 15,000 miles is $3,195, compared with the Prius’ $592.
So is it any wonder why the Colorado legislature voted to extend tax credits to the hybrids while even the old hags at the bond markets have turned their backs on the big magillas at Ford and GM, reducing their credit to junk status?
Face it: Hummers should come with Viagra in the glove box. They absolutely scream overcompensation.
So, fellas, here’s a tip for wooing the 21st-century woman: Gas is gross, and emissions are totally rude.
Love means never having to say you’re sorry for global warming.
Diane Carman’s column appears Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday. She can be reached at 303-820-1489 or dcarman@denverpost.com.
