I studied the pristine truck bed, followed the chrome contours down to the wheels until finally my eye landed on something out of place, a dull something dangling grotesquely from the trailer hitch. It was purplish and a bit shriveled, droopy, as if a giant had seen this immaculate truck and conjured up a phlegm boomerang from the deepest recesses of his nostrils.
But it wasn’t a giant booger that had attached itself this poor truck, it was a scrotum.
It wasn’t the first time I’d seen this sort of thing and it always elicits the same reaction, a desire for a mechanical claw that could reach out and pull them right off, stretching the reddish rubber until it snaps and the sacs thud to the ground just before my car tire pops them like zits.
The light turned green and the balls sped away from me, but I couldn’t stop thinking about them. What is the purpose of this auto accessory? To say, my balls are too big to fit inside my vehicle so I’ve hung them out here for everyone’s enjoyment while we navigate the city together?
I realize that if I were to paste a representation of my genitals on the back of my car it would mean something entirely different, a proclamation of promiscuity. Some might even think of it as an invitation. Or nothing at all, as I’m willing to bet many more men than would admit it probably wouldn’t even know what it was. “Hey, what’s that shriveled purple thing on that lady’s car?”
But so what? Why do I care if some guys want dusty balls on their car? It took me awhile to figure out my visceral reaction to these perverse pods.
It’s like this. I get it. We all get it. You’re a guy. You drive a truck that requires a ladder to climb into. The Y-chromosome fairy has granted you a pair of heavenly orbs thereby bequeathing to you the keys to the kingdom, an unwarranted sense of superiority over lesser beings, lisence to interrupt women when they’re talking, grab our asses in bars, pass judgement on the way we look, coin terms like “cankles” and “muffin top.” We already get it. The rubber scrotum swinging from your trailer hitch is just a slap in the face reminder.
So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to start driving around with a pair of sharp garden shears dangling from my trailer hitch. It’s a simple message really, the general public is not interested in your balls. If given the opportunity, I’ll see to it they don’t have to look at them.
Good day to you sir.