I want to buy a 1-year old Ford Fiesta. I have rung a purveyor of cars that is well-known in 'the circles in which I move'. I'm not naming names. So i've rung this place and told them what I want. No problem, madam, I'll ring you back.
A week later, I ring again. May I speak to John Smith. He's on holiday this week, may I help you? He was going to find a Ford Fiesta for me. I'll find out what is happening and ring you back, madam.
You'd think I'd rung them and said I wanted to turn into a pink elephant.
Maybe I'm being too much of a prima-donna. Maybe it's unreasonable to think that someone would tell me what is going on. But why do I think that if my husband rings them that they might act like we exist?
I think that Real Girls Don't Buy Cars. We drive them, but we don't buy them.