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" I bought a truck today. I&amp;#039;m probably overly excited about it. When we renovated the house in Ottawa, I had to borrow or rent trucks countless times to ferry supplies. (I never did manage to figure out how to fit a sheet of drywall into our Corolla.) It was a giant pain in the ass. With that in mind, and because we decided we finally needed a second vehicle, I set my sights on a pickup. I wanted a small truck, because I worry about things like gas mileage and the greenhouse effect. (Lee&amp;#039;s Uncle David, the driver of a colossal truck, looked at me like I was an adorable puppy with a tiny vagina when I told him my plans.) I also decided I wanted a stripped-down truck for my new stripped-down life, no fussy bullshit or precious interiors. That meant I looked at Ford Rangers. I&amp;#039;ve never owned a domestic, but I&amp;#039;ve always associated Ford with trucks. I gave one a spin. It had nothing in it \u2014 I&amp;#039;m not sure the radio even had an FM band \u2014 and it felt a little like driving around inside a washing machine. But it was definitely a truck, and it looked old-school good. (Rangers haven&amp;#039;t been redesigned since 1993, or something like that.) I thought it looked especially sharp in white. &amp;quot;White?&amp;quot; my wife said. &amp;quot;Only perverts drive white trucks.&amp;quot; I spent the next week pointing out all the white trucks on the road. Invariably, they were dirty trucks, farming trucks, commercial trucks. White trucks worked. I was pretty much sold, but I decided, just in case, to drive a Toyota Tacoma as well. I went to the dealership in Cobourg a couple of days ago. Brian let me go for a spin. Apart from their comparable size, the Tacoma is a very different truck to the Ranger. Up here in Canada, they come with access cabs, at the minimum. All the bells and whistles. A plug in the bed. Cruise control. Air. Pretty decent stereo. A nice drive, I have to say. A little too plush for my present state of mind, but still, pretty sweet. Both cup and bottle holders? Handy. Yesterday, Brian called. I could hear the smile in his voice. A used Tacoma had come in just that very morning, he thought I might like to know. Only a year old, low miles, clean, and with all the fixings, including a trailer hitch and a block heater. I could have it for the price of a new, stripped-down Ranger. &amp;quot;What color is it?&amp;quot; &amp;quot;It&amp;#039;s white,&amp;quot; he said. I went in today, paid cash for it, and drove it straight off the lot. I&amp;#039;ll tell you right now, Jimmy, I love my truck. I can&amp;#039;t wait to deliver my first sheet of drywall with it. I can already feel the tingle in my scrotum. Lee just rolls her eyes at me. She thinks I&amp;#039;m trying too hard to fit in with the real men here, with their real jobs and their real trucks. She&amp;#039;s also confirmed that I do, in fact, look like a pervert in it, especially when I have facial hair, which I usually do. She&amp;#039;s probably right on both counts, but that doesn&amp;#039;t make my love for my truck \u2014 or my soft, soft beard \u2014 any less powerful. I&amp;#039;ll never be without a pickup again. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.esquire.com/news-politics/a8541/how-to-buy-a-truck-090110/>