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drive, she said

There is nothing sexier than a man who drives...


That's it. It's not about a quarter-million dollars of Italian horsepower, nor an auto straight off the autobahn, nor a throbbing piece of Detroit muscle. Show me a guy who pilots whatever chariot he's in like a smooth operator, and I'll show you hot. This, of course, opens up the running to anyone who drives, whether it's a pickup or a Prius, a Rolls or a Smartie. You can leap to the front of the line without spending another dime.

Merge like Matisse. I wish I could relate just how nice it is to see a man merge on to a highway with finesse. He notes traffic flow from the top of the ramp, he seamlessly gets up to speed, and he merges like an artist instead of like Roger Ramjet.

Hold the (car) door for another. The same way we note how you speak to waiters, talk about your mom or trash your ex, we watch your road manners. That ability to let someone in? It speaks volumes about your patience. Let that other driver have the parking spot? Allow pedestrians time to safely cross? There's a generosity of spirit in those acts that relates more about your personality than a questionnaire ever could.

Keep your eyes on the real prize. Regardless of the scintillating conversation taking place in the car, you never reduce your concentration on the road. That red light coming up? You've already picked it up, and have begun adjusting your speed and vehicle placement. You'll never even spill my coffee, let alone plunge me through the windshield.

No sudden moves. Pedal stomping is for amateurs, and your ability to smoothly squeeze both throttle and brake rather than trounce on them speaks to maturity and self-control. Drag racing is fun to watch from the stands, less so from the passenger seat.

Being stubborn may be good at an auction, but it's really not great on the highway. Perhaps you feel like a reverse Moses, with all that traffic parting around you as you cling to "your" lane. Yes, you technically do own the road, but so do all those other people. There's a reason mules can't reproduce.

Know your place. Please don't pull up to a building in the fire zone, snap on your hazards and say you'll just be a minute. Same for double parking, same for taking a handicapped spot. Letting me know there is no one more important to you than well, you, tells me all I need to know about how you treat others in your world.

Send out the right signal. Using your turn indicator is a not a sign of weakness, it is polite. Running with scissors may make you a leader in other forums, but playing well with others makes our roads safer. Co-ordinating your actions when you drive so other drivers can predict what you're doing may take away the element of surprise, but I'm totally okay with that.

I think we just missed our exit. But this doesn't matter of course, because you already know you can always get to there from here, regardless of where here is. An extra few minutes to loop back safely is so much more attractive than zipping across three live lanes of traffic, or worse yet, executing the deadly highway back-up. Solving the missed exit scenario is a sneak peek into how you cope when things don't go your way. I won't be cutting you much slack for tantrums; you already have a mother.

Since no car yet has total autopilot, I'm going to assume if you're making conversation and gesticulating wildly that we are indeed doomed to crash, or at the very least be subjected to the infamous flub and tug: when you finally notice your error and overcorrect. You can gaze deeply into my eyes another time – keep your jazz hands on the wheel.

This too shall pass. The sure-fire sign of a secure man? Allowing the highway weavers and dodgers to pass. Being held hostage to an angry driver's quest to settle an imaginary score is annoying at best, and terrifying at worst. To paraphrase an adage: never race a fool, for the audience won't know who he is.

See how easy it is to rocket up the desirability scale? Oh, and all of the above? Totally true for women, too.