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Baby you can drive my car

April 11, 2011

A man I’ve been talking to lately wants to give me a car.

It's a very nice car

Or, to be more acurrate, he wants me to drive his fancy luxury car back and forth to the office everyday.

Now, there are all kinds of reasons this is wrong. Going from cheap taxis and tagging along with friends to suddenly riding in a car that costs more than I make in a year would be bound to start all sorts of rumors about me being “his woman.” I haven’t slept with this man, and he’s possibly only offering because he thinks I am going to — or he thinks this will persuade me. Plus, there’s an ick factor: a little voice whispering insistently that despite all his assurances that he just happens to have this spare car and is concerned about me getting home after a late night at the office, this is fundamentally a move to control where I go.

I politely but firmly refused his offer, but it’s gotten me thinking about a peculiar tendency in this region that I never noticed in the states. Over and over again, the men here seem to be saying the same thing:

“I can take care of you.”

Have I stepped back in time? Take care of me?

I still find it hard to believe, but it seems that is actually what these guys want to do. I’m having a hard time convincing them that it isn’t a good thing.

Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy keeping company with a man who earns a good living, but not because I want to spend his money. It’s because I want to keep company with a stable, grown-up human being.

And hearing that a man wants to take care of me smacks of wanting a relationship with a child. A needy, dependent child.

And guess what?

I am not a child. Hearing a man tell me — albeit in a roundabout way — that he wants to treat me like one is supremely unattractive. Invariably, when I hear this from a man, whatever spark I felt that got me talking to him in the first place flies right out the window.

Because I can take care of myself. After all, as much as I may want a man, I don’t need one.

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