Yesterday, I had my first experience of car-o-feriority

Hello Friends, and welcome to the glorious month of June. Well, it may be glorious for you, but it most certainly wasn't for me as the promising start to the month that I'd been hoping for never materialised. Instead, I suffered from my first bout of car-o-feriority.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term, let me take a moment to familiarise you. Car-o-feriority is when you are sat in your automobile- in my case a white poop splattered Ford Fiesta, and then you park next to another car. But it's not just any car. Oh no. Car-o-feriority only happens when you realise that your little baby is decidedly mediocre. This fact becomes blindingly obvious the longer you sit next to perfection, ie, a car that you can only ever dream of owning and is usually ever only seen on Top Gear. Car-o-feriority is more commonly a male affliction (I have noted at least) and affects my poor father usually on a bi-monthly basis. It is yet, however, to affect my mother- she is very happy cruising along in old faithful- a Honda Civic.

Anyway, there I was sat in a car park, minding my own business (as you do) when I was suddenly struck down by a most peculiar sensation. I began to feel e-feminated (if this isn't a real word I apologise, but given that I'm of the fairer gender, it is impossible for me to be emasculated. Note: I have not put a double 'f' in the term e-feminate, as if I did it would become effeminate, which means to display womanly characteristics, which obviously, I do).

Never before had I suffered with e-femination, which rapidly became car-o-feriority as I began the mental comparison between my 12 year old battered and bruised old friend and this brand new pillar box red three door Aston Martin. Comprehension dawned on me as I thought about my pimping of my car and compared it to the Aston. Do I have alloys? No, but I have the finest Halfords hubcaps money can buy. Did the A.M. have alloys? Yes, in black. Evidently, this car was too cool for school. Do I have a leather interior? No. Did the A.M? Why, it most certainly did. Do I even have a CD player? Nope. Need I ask the question relating to the A.M? I think you know the answer: it had three.

Barely able to prise myself out of the car due to severe levels of car-o-feriority, I did the one thing that any young woman not in a relationship would have done: I phoned my Dad. He did not offer the comforting words I needed to hear. Instead, he welcomed me to the club and informed me that the entire value of my car was worth just two A.M. tyres at the most. To add insult to injury, he then asked me to take a picture so he could see the beast. Thank you dear father, thank you.

Now, I know you must be wondering: at any point did I feel superior in my speckled white Fiesta? The answer you are looking for would be no. I tried to do that logic thing that my Dad taught me where you work out the expenditure on top of the sum of the car, but it didn't perk me up. Yes, I might have cheaper insurance. And yes, I might have a lesser expenditure. But ultimately, I had a Ford Fiesta. These arguments became inconsequential as I began to question my loyalty to my pooped-up motor. What was happening to me, I wondered? For I had always been happy with my little car, until I experienced the phenomenon of car-o-feriority. All I can say, is that it must be exhausting being a man. I mean, this affliction strikes my Dad down at least a dozen times a year! How he manages to pick himself up is beyond me.

Oh well. Life must go on.

Yes, indeed it must. When I remembered that, I felt heartened. I can aspire to the dizzying heights of Aston Martin ownership and one day, maybe one day, succeed. And then I realised, I'm happy to wait twenty years for one. After all, my Dad's been waiting that long (and some), so he's due his any day now. For now, I'm happy to admire from a distance and wistfully hope that one day my hard work might pay off.

With that realisation, I was at one with myself and my ever loyal car once more.

All was well.

Especially when I returned to my car later that evening and felt a certain sense of smugness. Next to my poop smattered Fiesta was a poop splattered Aston. For once, I felt grateful for a little black and white speckling on the bonnet and would have gladly accepted a little more on mine, feeling blessed that a bird would share itself with both the Prince and Pauper of the car world.