Car talk

I think I’ve mentioned before that Greg isn’t interested in some typical guy hobbies. He couldn’t tell you the record of his favorite football team (because he doesn’t have one), and he takes no interest in our cars so long as they start every morning. This is actually one of the reasons I married him. I liked that I wouldn’t have to spend every Sunday listening to him yell at the television. And the man knows how to sew a button, but he also has a black belt in tae kwon do. Awesome! But, friends, sometimes his lack of “man knowledge” embarrasses me.

We were outside with Eleanor the other night when someone drove by in a Ford Fusion. The driver waved at us, but the glare from the sun prevented me from seeing him. Greg waved back.

“Who was that?” I asked.

“Um, Emmett’s dad,” Greg said, struggling to come up with the name. “He got a new car.”

“Oh,” I said. “I don’t even know what kind of car he drove before.”

“It was white,” Greg said. I furrowed my brow at him.

“Small,” he said.

Right. Greg is thinking about getting a new car in the not-too-distant future. Should a man armed with this encyclopedia of knowledge be allowed to go car shopping on his own?