What, no discipline?

We recently traded in our 10-year-old (but still perfectly reliable) car for a brand new luxury model, and Ron let me choose the colour. I call it a computer on wheels. It has so many bells and whistles the noise is deafening! Besides the heated seats (ooh!), it has two display screens, two clocks (analog and digital), a backup camera, and very clever windshield wipers that adjust their speed according to the amount of rain coming down. The steering wheel itself is a mini-control panel; heated and padded, it contains a host of buttons that control the sound system (I think). I've learned all I need to know—how to make it start, run and stop, and how to find CBC on the radio—but Ron will spend hours sitting in the car with the instruction manual, learning about all the fancy features.

There are lots and lots of lights, both inside and out. The dashboard display lights up like a Christmas tree, and various cryptic letter combinations appear, in a rainbow of colours, to warn you of impending doom or reassure you that a safety feature is in place. Recently I noticed a group of letters I hadn't seen before: BDSM. Was that a warning that a spanking was imminent? Or maybe the reassurance that this car, along with everything else, was kink-friendly?

But wait. On closer inspection the letters turned out to be BSM. What, no D? No dominance or discipline? This car wasn't going to be as much fun as I thought.