Foiled again...
Back when I still possessed a modicum of self-esteem and lung capacity, I used to partake in that most pretentious of all sports, fencing. As you might expect, the fencing club was stuffed to the very gills with lawyers, architects, doctors, anyone who’d been to public school and me, who in this context probably qualified as the token bit of rough (*).

Consequently, I lived on the south side of the city, whereas the club was based in a private school way over to the more salubrious north. And it was a hell of a walk home. One evening, a terribly nice chap from the club who I’d been enjoying a mild flirtation with (which translated from Rakky-speak basically means I’d managed to hold a conversation without making a total arse of myself) offered me a lift back. I politely accepted and walked out to where his Lotus was parked. “Ooooh,” I thought, “very exciting, not only do I get a lift, but I get a lift in a right nice car.”

Now, as those of you who have had the pleasure of my company will attest, I’m not a small girl. I’m not a fatty, just tall and heartily constructed. If you were being polite, I guess you’d say statuesque. If you were being a cunt, you’d probably describe me as a big unit. The Lotus, whilst a thing of beauty, is also rather low slung and so I struggled somewhat to lower myself into the passenger seat whilst still retaining some dignity.

I turned to my knight in shining faux leather and shot him what I perceived to be a coquettish grin as I leant over to pull the door shut.

At which point my ears were assaulted by the sound of grinding metal on tarmac. The low nature of the car, combined with my bodyweight and the fact we were parked on a slight hill had come together to mean that the passenger door was now in contact with the floor and I’d managed to scrape a massive chunk off it as I pulled it closed.
With all thoughts of a date fast retreating, I apologised to my now furious chauffeur and spent the next two or so minutes trying to balance getting into the car without putting too much weight on the passenger side so that the door could close properly.

We drove home in silence. He couldn’t have left quicker if I asked him to drop me off in Soweto. Unsurprisingly he never asked me out, nor offered me a lift again. The last time I saw him he was dating a tiny little slip of a girl who presumably can get into cars without breaking them.

(*) I’m about as middle class as you get, I mean, I have two different types of hummus in my fridge.
(Rakky (forgot her password) The muffin maverick, Mon 26 Apr 2010, 11:16, 10 replies)

Only you, Rakky
Only you...
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Mon 26 Apr 2010, 11:40, closed)

Having read the footnote at the start of the story
All I could think of while reading it is that you have just invented a fantastic new way of referring to gay men.

"They say he keeps two types of Hummus in the fridge you know..."
( MatJ LOOK, Mon 26 Apr 2010, 11:47, closed)

Serves the pretention oik right
bloody stupid little cars, they're only good for driving under lorries.
( Fronds are waving gently on, Mon 26 Apr 2010, 11:48, closed)

It's not that low
It was his own fault for not realising the problem beforehand I have had many a chunky maiden in mine no problem.
(BiggestNizzy your company name here pm for rates., Mon 26 Apr 2010, 12:29, closed)

^agreed
With the right combo of kerb/verge, camber and hillock, I've achieved this in my estate, which is not low to the ground - and I'm of average mass.
(Good old boy just like yer grandma!, Tue 27 Apr 2010, 21:49, closed)

Probably just as well
Up until a few years back, Lotuses (Loti?) were pish cars. Held together by presence of mind and airfix glue. Never has a comedy acronym been more apt: Lots Of Trouble, Usually Serious.

I once did the door scraping thing with my old Cavalier, but it was a heap of shite anyway. And I was fat at the time.
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Mon 26 Apr 2010, 13:57, closed)

Nothing much has changed
They are still held together with chewing gum and every new smell, knock or rattle makes me (and my bank manager) worry. When they work they are fantastic though and on a sunny day on country roads nothing beats them (for fun anyway).
(BiggestNizzy your company name here pm for rates., Mon 26 Apr 2010, 14:55, closed)

Nope, Suzuki GSXR-750 FTW!
(zootius, Mon 26 Apr 2010, 15:09, closed)

My driving style means that a bike would be an unhealth option, plus you bikers are to slow in the corners ;)
(BiggestNizzy your company name here pm for rates., Tue 27 Apr 2010, 10:59, closed)

He should have thought about that before he let you in (I assume this is an Elise we're talking about). It's totally his fault and he only offered you a lift so he could show off. vot a n0b.
(zootius, Mon 26 Apr 2010, 15:12, closed)