1. Buy this truck.
Men flock to it. From the crowd you can occasionally decipher phrases like "Fox shocks!" and "lockers" and "6.2 liter." In a sea of Subarus, my truck is like a supermodel hanging out with ordinary folks.
I've also heard some interesting statements from men implying that the only people who should be driving it are, well, men. Like, "That's four times the truck you need," and my personal favorite, "That truck hauls ass, and you don't have much ass to haul." Um, thanks? I think.
I drove my last truck for 15 years. It didn't get much attention lately, besides the occasional, "Do you know you have an oil leak?" I'm still getting used to power windows and door locks, let alone a backup camera and no gas cap. Best of all, it's mine: no other name on the title, paid for by 14 hour days fighting fire.
I get it, guys, I really do. It's like when you see me every day in my fire clothes and ponytail and I'm one of you, but if I put on makeup and stiletto boots and go to a party, you all want to talk to me. I don't blame you. I love my truck too. In fact, I think I'll go gaze at it some more.