A Man, a Woman and a Car.

Today, the Femmes Fatales welcome guest blogger Rhys Bowen.  Rhys writes the Molly Murphy and Royal Spyness mysteries. Her latest book, Royal Flush, has made several best-seller lists. 

by Rhys Bowen

Many thanks to the FFF (fabulous Fatal Femmes) for asking me to join them today. I’ve had a crazy summer of travel, both my publisher’s official tour and some trips I arranged on my own. One of these was a car trip, starting in New York, going through New England up to Canada for Bloody Words convention and then back down through the Hudson Valley for more research for my Molly books.

And during that ten day road trip with my husband I decided that men and women were never meant to share a car together for that length of time. No, we haven’t killed each other and we parted quite amicably as I flew off to Chicago and he back home, but it hasn’t always been easy. In fact confining two people to a car in a strange part of the country is a test of any relationship, male or female, but more than anything it illustrates the basic differences between men and women.

 For starters my husband likes to have the whole trip mapped out ahead of time. He likes to know exactly where we are going each day, where we are stopping for the night and he will not deviate from this for fires, flood or a sale at his wife’s favorite store. His idea of seeing the country is to drive past the sights, slowing to look at Mount Rushmore or the Grand Canyon, but never actually stopping and certainly not going to see any sight if it is more than half a mile from his planned route.

My idea of a good road trip is to set off with an objective in mind, but then to be lured off on tangents, to stop and browse in cute little towns, to stop for yard sales and funky antique shops in barns, to pet sheep and goats and generally to have a good time. These two philosophies are not compatible, but he will grudgingly stop if I yell, “STOP!!!” loudly enough. Anything less than this and he will drive on with determination.

You see, being a woman, I expect a fellow human being to pick up signals and hints. If I say, “Oh, look at that pretty little river flowing under that bridge,” what I am really saying is, “I’d like to stop and take a look at that pretty river.”  If I say, “Wow, homemade ice cream at that adorable little farmhouse,” I expect the driver to sense that what I really want is a large scoop of that homemade ice cream. But I now know that one has to spell out wishes to men or they simply DON’T GET IT.

So I have to say, “there is a good parking space coming up at exactly thirty five yards on the right and I’d like to spend a while taking a look at that art gallery.”  You see, it’s no use saying, “I’d like to take a look at that art gallery” as we drive past because we’ll be gone by the time I finish the sentence or he’ll claim that it was too late to find a parking space.

He also sees no reason to browse in antique shops. Apparently we have all the junk we need. Ditto funky clothing stores, bead shops, yarn shops and all the other things that make life worthwhile. This is why road trips with girlfriends are so much more rewarding. Girlfriends also want to browse in shops and stop for ice cream. Furthermore they laugh when things go wrong. When husband and I tried to cross the border from Canada back into the US we found that the particular crossing was closed, due to a dispute with a local Indian tribe. There had been no warning of this as we drove 90 miles down the road to the border so naturally we were not amused. We were even less amused when we had to drive fifty miles out of our way and then fifty miles back to get to where we were going. Girlfriends would have salvaged the situation. We continued with repeated grumpy mutterings about bloody idiots.

And this is also why female writers should be given female talent escorts on book tour. Last year I had a charming male escort for two days in Los Angeles. His only fault was that he would park right outside a Chico’s or a J.Jill and then expect me to cross the street into a Barnes and Noble without a backward longing glance at my favorite stores. A female escort would have sensed that I needed a quick Chico’s fix. Female escorts also realize that life is not worth living without a vanilla Frapuccino in summer.  They like to chat about make-up and Brad Pitt and favorite beaches and which shoes don’t kill feet by the end of the day. Male escorts are happy to point out interesting facts about their town, or to discuss how the baseball team is doing or even about food and restaurants, but it’s not the same.

This is why I used to love touring with fellow authors. It is great therapy to have someone to laugh with, to drink margaritas with after a great signing or more margaritas after an abysmal one.  After my publisher’s tour this year I snuck in a quick whisk around Florida with fellow writer Mary Anna Evans. We found time to get to the beach twice. We found a beachfront restaurant that served a great cold seafood platter, including oysters and then found a pretentiously avant-garde place in Palm Beach where the place mats were made of what looked like insulation. We had a blast.

I’m just getting ready to set off with husband again, this time to the Australian Outback. I’ll let you know if he actually parks for Ayers Rock!

Rhys Bowen blogs regularly at The Lady Killers and Jungle Red Writers. 

Comments

[PK the Bookeemonster]

On a long car trip between Billings,MT (our hometown) and Denver (7 hour drive), I learned the hard way not to have a hot-button-political-issue discussion of which the discussees are on different sides. Bad bad move. There is no escape in a car other than deafening silence for hours.
I've also learned on long car trips that the co-pilot (me) is not supposed to find self distraction/amusement by reading but is supposed to stare at the passing landscape.
When will I learn not to go on roadtrips?

[Venus de Hilo]

For a moment there I wondered if we are married to the same guy.

[chris]

Maybe it's just "people" that are different?

[Sheila Connolly]

I think it's a male strategy. You say, "ooh, look at that pretty whatever," and they just keep driving. They know what you want (certainly after many years), but they don't want to do it, so they play deaf and dumb. Yup, I've got one of them too.

[Rhys Bowen]

My husband actually enjoyes shopping but only if it falls with the "useful toys" category. He bought a very expensive oyster shucker the other day. We have oysters maybe once a year. Antiques, clothes, art are not useful, hence not worth stopping for.

[Donna Andrews]

My father was much nicer for Mom to travel with--he liked getting lost on byways, and was so fond of dawdling to gawk at sights that he would be regularly passed by Amish buggies on Pennsylvania side roads.

But not on the last day of the trip. Suddenly, his inner homing pigeon would kick in, and Mom would have a hard time getting him to stop for food and bathroom breaks during the final few hours of a trip.

I've been told I have a touch of this Andrewsian trait, but I try to suppress it!

(Incidentally I can testify that Rhys is a great companion on a signing trip!)

Donna

[Hank Phillippi Ryan]

How about:

Hank: Soon, I have to go to the bathroom.

Jonathan: Okay. In a minute.

Many exits whiz (oops) by.

Hank: Um, can we stop, like now-ish?

Sign says: next exit 39 miles.

[krisneri]

LOL! I've learned not to say, "Ooh! Look at that," by which I mean, "Let's stop and look at that," but which never registers with Joe. Instead, I shout,"Turn in there. Now!" Sometimes that actually takes him by such surprise, that he does it. How can men married for many years not understand the code words?