by Cyd Madsen

Created on: March 14, 2009   Last Updated: April 27, 2009

The other day I was driving the open road, when it dawned on me that I'd become "that kind of woman"-middle-aged, bottle-blond, ultra chic sunglasses, driving a sports-car with the pop-top down, and her precious little poodle next to her. At that moment the car I was driving was screaming, "Whoa, this isn't what it looks like! I'm not that woman. This is an accident!" And it was. The BMW Z3 is my husband's car, bought in 2000 and now owned free and clear. The only reason I'm driving it is because he recently sprained his ankle and has stolen my more sensible car with an automatic transmission. The poodle was a mistake, too, or at least a surprise. He was a dog we'd rescued from a shelter four months ago, and about the most fugly looking mess of matted hair I'd ever seen. It took three months of weekly grooming and shaving before we had any idea he was a beautiful apricot, pure bred poodle-the stuff of pampered women who pamper their pups and drove snazzy sports-cars to show the world how much pampering was happening in her life. The only truth my car spoke about my personality at the time was that I am, indeed, middle-aged and get my blond hair from a bottle.

Cars will always lie about our personality, even if we're driving our own car and not our spouse's. I can say this with confidence because the majority of us approach purchasing a car with a certain image in mind. We do want our cars to reflect who we are, but most of us do so because we're not really confident about our identity. We need a certain type of car to prove ourselves to ourselves and to others, even if we don't know them. The attempt is often a failure, or at best confusing.

Is the man driving a muscle car capable of speeds faster than allowed on any freeway really a virile young stud enjoying the rush of that engine's ability, or is he an insecure guy who's secret belief is that no woman would really adore him if he isn't the muscle man he hope, hope, hopes he is? Is the young woman with children driving a Lincoln Navigator really the wife of a successful businessman, or is she a frazzled housewife so deeply in debt she shouldn't be allowed to drive a hunk of machinery like that? Is the unshaven little guy in a beat up old junker someone who is poor, doesn't care what others think, or a multi-millionaire who knows how to save a buck? Perhaps he's an obsessed mathematical genius completely unaware of what he's driving. There's an old saying that we shouldn't judge a book by its cover. The same

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